Half listening to the Sunday talk show clap trap, I thought I misheard Hillary Clinton when she said she had not yet met Sarah Palin, but wouldn't mind chatting with her over a cup of coffee. I couldn't believe these two pivotal political women weren’t personally acquainted, but then again, Sarah dissed Hil pretty hard for playing the gender card, or as Sarah called it: "whining." I guess it's not whining if you write it instead of say it.
Monday, November 16, 2009
The Palin-Clinton Coffee Klatsch
Half listening to the Sunday talk show clap trap, I thought I misheard Hillary Clinton when she said she had not yet met Sarah Palin, but wouldn't mind chatting with her over a cup of coffee. I couldn't believe these two pivotal political women weren’t personally acquainted, but then again, Sarah dissed Hil pretty hard for playing the gender card, or as Sarah called it: "whining." I guess it's not whining if you write it instead of say it.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Death Hires a Sniper
Did Grandma Have it Coming?
© 2009 Leighann Lord
A 92-year-old woman in New York City was shot and killed in her own home by a stray bullet. Why did this happen? Was it a senior citizen love triangle gone wrong? Women live longer than men and the competition naturally gets fierce. Did she flirt with the wrong octogenarian, inciting a rival to grab her musket, fire up her power chair and motor out for a drive by? Who says Grannies can't get gansta?
There is an unpleasant but a distinct possibility that she brought this on herself. If you've read "The Secret" and subscribe to The Law of Attraction, then you know he had it coming. But what could a 92-year-old woman do to deserve such a dastardly demise: Medicare fraud, prescription drug running, cheating at Bingo, hubris? Maybe she got cocky. Wouldn't you? Living for so long, it's easy to think Death has overlooked you. And maybe it did.
Death, like the rest of us, is overworked and understaffed. I picture Death sitting in Starbucks checking his BlackBerry (because Death would have a BlackBerry, not an iPhone) going over his To Do List. (If you see Death as more of a traditionalist, perhaps he is reviewing his Franklin Covey Day Planner.) He sees he's forgotten to acquire Sadie. Already back logged up to his hoodie, Death subcontracts the job out to Disease.
Disease takes the gig because who turns down work in this economy? Swine flu is hot. The elderly are in the "at risk" category, but it's also the busy season. There are a lot of sick people with pre-existing conditions and no health insurance. So Disease sub-subcontracts the job to Violence. "Don't get fancy. She's 92. Make it look like an accident."
But as always, Violence is sloppy. With no oversight or quality control, a 92-year-old woman who probably should have passed peacefully in her sleep, was instead "accidentally" shot in the back by a kid young enough to be her great grandson.
The police caught the 18-year-old culprit. And one can only hope that if there is any justice in the world he will be found guilty and sentenced a minimum of 92 years. It's disconcerting to think that Sadie was eligible for Social Security and taking mandatory disbursement from her IRA's when her killer was still in diapers. They grow up so fast don't they?
If heaven is like school and people are grouped by age, Sadie will find herself in a room full of folks who were felled by heart attacks, strokes or pneumonia. She’ll be the only 92-year-old gunshot victim. When they tell their stories in turn, people will be shocked and awed when Sadie recounts, "I died when I was 92, bullet to the back. Yup, Death sent a sniper." Even in The Great Beyond that's got to add up to a lot of street cred. Who'd of thought dying in your sleep would be the wimpy way to go?
© 2009 Leighann Lord
A 92-year-old woman in New York City was shot and killed in her own home by a stray bullet. Why did this happen? Was it a senior citizen love triangle gone wrong? Women live longer than men and the competition naturally gets fierce. Did she flirt with the wrong octogenarian, inciting a rival to grab her musket, fire up her power chair and motor out for a drive by? Who says Grannies can't get gansta?
There is an unpleasant but a distinct possibility that she brought this on herself. If you've read "The Secret" and subscribe to The Law of Attraction, then you know he had it coming. But what could a 92-year-old woman do to deserve such a dastardly demise: Medicare fraud, prescription drug running, cheating at Bingo, hubris? Maybe she got cocky. Wouldn't you? Living for so long, it's easy to think Death has overlooked you. And maybe it did.
Death, like the rest of us, is overworked and understaffed. I picture Death sitting in Starbucks checking his BlackBerry (because Death would have a BlackBerry, not an iPhone) going over his To Do List. (If you see Death as more of a traditionalist, perhaps he is reviewing his Franklin Covey Day Planner.) He sees he's forgotten to acquire Sadie. Already back logged up to his hoodie, Death subcontracts the job out to Disease.
Disease takes the gig because who turns down work in this economy? Swine flu is hot. The elderly are in the "at risk" category, but it's also the busy season. There are a lot of sick people with pre-existing conditions and no health insurance. So Disease sub-subcontracts the job to Violence. "Don't get fancy. She's 92. Make it look like an accident."
But as always, Violence is sloppy. With no oversight or quality control, a 92-year-old woman who probably should have passed peacefully in her sleep, was instead "accidentally" shot in the back by a kid young enough to be her great grandson.
The police caught the 18-year-old culprit. And one can only hope that if there is any justice in the world he will be found guilty and sentenced a minimum of 92 years. It's disconcerting to think that Sadie was eligible for Social Security and taking mandatory disbursement from her IRA's when her killer was still in diapers. They grow up so fast don't they?
If heaven is like school and people are grouped by age, Sadie will find herself in a room full of folks who were felled by heart attacks, strokes or pneumonia. She’ll be the only 92-year-old gunshot victim. When they tell their stories in turn, people will be shocked and awed when Sadie recounts, "I died when I was 92, bullet to the back. Yup, Death sent a sniper." Even in The Great Beyond that's got to add up to a lot of street cred. Who'd of thought dying in your sleep would be the wimpy way to go?
Leighann Lord is a standup comedian. See her perform 11/24 - 28 at Acme Comedy Company in Mineapolis with the Sheroes of Comedy! Check out her other upcoming shows @ www.VeryFunnyLady.com. Join her on FaceBook. Follow her on Twitter.Thursday, November 5, 2009
Post Election Analysis: You Can't Lend Charisma
© 2009 Leighann Lord
The day after the election, my Dad was mad. He said, "You know who lost the election for Mayor? Obama!" he said not waiting for an answer. I was worried that senility had come for my Dad in the night. Barack Obama wasn't running for Mayor of New York City. That pseudo contest was between incumbent Michael Bloomberg and challenger Bill Thompson.
It turns out, my Dad was convinced that if the President had spent as much time stumping for Thompson as he did for "everybody else" Thompson would've won. It's easy to believe that especially given how close the race was. Apparently $100 million doesn't buy as much of a margin as you'd think. But Obama campaigned for the governors of New Jersey and Virginia, and they both lost. Extrapolating that out, it’s conceivable that if Obama had endorsed Thompson more vigorously, he could have lost by an even wider margin.
Republicans are cooing that this is a big win for them. And quite frankly they needed it. The Grand Old Party just hasn't been itself since the last presidential election. They are going through an identity crisis of pubescent proportions. Like a desperate 30 something -- the cockiness of their 20s a distant memory -- signing up on E-Harmony, they've been looking for something real to hold onto. But is this the big chink in The Obama Mystique they've been so desperately looking for? It could be.
It's a gross miscalculation to think that everyone in the Democratic party can wrap themselves in the cloak of change and ride the wave to elected office. The losses in Virginia and New Jersey prove that charisma isn't always a tradeable asset. It's like that really cute guy who ambles over, chats you up, and then asks you to go out with his not so cute friend whom you didn't notice over at the bar drooling in your general direction. It's the Trojan Horse, Cyrano de Bergerac, bait and switch. And the voters responded in TLC fashion, "No, I don't want no scrubs!" (The grammar checker on my computer insists that this sentence should read, "any" scrubs, but I’ll risk the grammatical error to preserve the intent of the artist.)
I love Barack, but don't misconstrue that for total agreement. I'm still way burnt that the First Dog isn't a mutt and I'm getting tired of hitting the snooze button on health care. That said, I dig Obama, not the Democratic party. There's a reason why I'm still a registered Independent. It helps me keep a healthy level of skepticism of both parties, and not drink too deeply of the ever-changing flavors of called they're pedaling to whomever might be listening at the moment.
In the New York City Mayoral election I was neither delighted by nor interested in either of the candidates. Bloomberg's third term power grab with the help of the City Council was nothing short of disgusting. His money scared off all possible challengers except Thompson. I wondered more than once if Thompson was brave or just plain crazy. Perhaps it was all one big show for the Public’s benefit. The election results already predetermine, the slim margin of victory thrown in for dramatic effect. But that's a little too conspiracy-theory even for me.
The pervasive feeling among the people I talked to about Thompson was, "Is he the best the Democratic Party has to offer? Really? Seriously?" I'm sure he's a nice, hard-working man. Even Mayor Bloomberg had occasion to comment that he was excellent in his job as Comptroller, but you can't fake chemistry.
Maybe Barack didn't campaign harder for Thompson because, deep down he knew it wouldn't do any good. With 2010 looming, big political promises still to keep, and the Republicans feeling good after their election day make over, maybe President Obama needs to keep a little charisma in reserve for himself.
The day after the election, my Dad was mad. He said, "You know who lost the election for Mayor? Obama!" he said not waiting for an answer. I was worried that senility had come for my Dad in the night. Barack Obama wasn't running for Mayor of New York City. That pseudo contest was between incumbent Michael Bloomberg and challenger Bill Thompson.
It turns out, my Dad was convinced that if the President had spent as much time stumping for Thompson as he did for "everybody else" Thompson would've won. It's easy to believe that especially given how close the race was. Apparently $100 million doesn't buy as much of a margin as you'd think. But Obama campaigned for the governors of New Jersey and Virginia, and they both lost. Extrapolating that out, it’s conceivable that if Obama had endorsed Thompson more vigorously, he could have lost by an even wider margin.
Republicans are cooing that this is a big win for them. And quite frankly they needed it. The Grand Old Party just hasn't been itself since the last presidential election. They are going through an identity crisis of pubescent proportions. Like a desperate 30 something -- the cockiness of their 20s a distant memory -- signing up on E-Harmony, they've been looking for something real to hold onto. But is this the big chink in The Obama Mystique they've been so desperately looking for? It could be.
It's a gross miscalculation to think that everyone in the Democratic party can wrap themselves in the cloak of change and ride the wave to elected office. The losses in Virginia and New Jersey prove that charisma isn't always a tradeable asset. It's like that really cute guy who ambles over, chats you up, and then asks you to go out with his not so cute friend whom you didn't notice over at the bar drooling in your general direction. It's the Trojan Horse, Cyrano de Bergerac, bait and switch. And the voters responded in TLC fashion, "No, I don't want no scrubs!" (The grammar checker on my computer insists that this sentence should read, "any" scrubs, but I’ll risk the grammatical error to preserve the intent of the artist.)
I love Barack, but don't misconstrue that for total agreement. I'm still way burnt that the First Dog isn't a mutt and I'm getting tired of hitting the snooze button on health care. That said, I dig Obama, not the Democratic party. There's a reason why I'm still a registered Independent. It helps me keep a healthy level of skepticism of both parties, and not drink too deeply of the ever-changing flavors of called they're pedaling to whomever might be listening at the moment.
In the New York City Mayoral election I was neither delighted by nor interested in either of the candidates. Bloomberg's third term power grab with the help of the City Council was nothing short of disgusting. His money scared off all possible challengers except Thompson. I wondered more than once if Thompson was brave or just plain crazy. Perhaps it was all one big show for the Public’s benefit. The election results already predetermine, the slim margin of victory thrown in for dramatic effect. But that's a little too conspiracy-theory even for me.
The pervasive feeling among the people I talked to about Thompson was, "Is he the best the Democratic Party has to offer? Really? Seriously?" I'm sure he's a nice, hard-working man. Even Mayor Bloomberg had occasion to comment that he was excellent in his job as Comptroller, but you can't fake chemistry.
Maybe Barack didn't campaign harder for Thompson because, deep down he knew it wouldn't do any good. With 2010 looming, big political promises still to keep, and the Republicans feeling good after their election day make over, maybe President Obama needs to keep a little charisma in reserve for himself.
Leighann Lord is a standup comedian. See her perform 11/24 - 28 at Acme Comedy Company in Mineapolis with the Sheroes of Comedy! Check out her other upcoming shows @ www.VeryFunnyLady.com. Join her on FaceBook. Follow her on Twitter. www.VeryFunnyLady.comWednesday, October 28, 2009
Best Buy, Worst Buy
© 2009 Leighann Lord
It was all my fault. And when I tell you the story, you’ll agree. You’ll shake your head and say, "Yes, Leighann. You brought it on yourself. What were you thinking, going into Best Buy and expecting good customer service? You know better than that." Yes, I do. But I thought, "How wrong can I go looking for a simple item?" I found out.
I went into Best Buy on Sixth Avenue and 23rd Street in Manhattan looking for a padded case for my netbook. My one year old Acer Aspire One is only 2 1/2 pounds and it tickles me no end that it's petite enough to put in my purse.
A friend said, "You should really get a padded case for that. If your purse falls," which it often does - gravity loves a heavy bag, "You could kill your Acer." True and it would be a small consolation that I could buy a new one cheap. What I can't afford is the time it would take reinstalling programs and backup data. Plus it was an excuse to go shopping.
I tried Staples, a luggage store and Tek Serve, the local Mac spot. All of the cases were way too big since they were meant for full size laptops. That's how I ended up at Best Buy. I was pleasantly surprised to find that they actually had a decent assortment of net book cases. I'm a hands on shopper so I took my netbook out, slipped it into several cases, narrowing it down to two. Although I liked the look of the second one, the cardboard packaging was attached in such a way that it prevented the zipper from being opened all the way.
When a sales associate appeared and asked if I needed help I said, "Yes, I'd like to see how well this case fits my netbook, do you have an open one I can try?" The employee (and I assumed he was an employee since he was wearing a royal blue shirt) shrugged his shoulders and laughed! Not a knee slapping laugh, but an audible chuckle, and said, "No. I don't have, like, a floor model."
See? My fault! I expected him to say, "Oh, let me open this one for you," especially since it was the more expensive of the two. I don't know if this guy works on commission but logically if the company makes money, the store stays open, he stays gainfully employed. But clearly this was not upper most in shrug-chuckle boy's mind.
Just so we're clear, this was not a matter of hunting down a manager, getting a key and unlocking a hermetically sealed security case. All he would have had to do was peel back two tiny pieces of scotch tape. God forbid! Doesn’t the blue shirt doesn't give you the authority to break tape and make a sale?
I went into Best Buy on Sixth Avenue and 23rd Street in Manhattan looking for a padded case for my netbook. My one year old Acer Aspire One is only 2 1/2 pounds and it tickles me no end that it's petite enough to put in my purse.
A friend said, "You should really get a padded case for that. If your purse falls," which it often does - gravity loves a heavy bag, "You could kill your Acer." True and it would be a small consolation that I could buy a new one cheap. What I can't afford is the time it would take reinstalling programs and backup data. Plus it was an excuse to go shopping.
I tried Staples, a luggage store and Tek Serve, the local Mac spot. All of the cases were way too big since they were meant for full size laptops. That's how I ended up at Best Buy. I was pleasantly surprised to find that they actually had a decent assortment of net book cases. I'm a hands on shopper so I took my netbook out, slipped it into several cases, narrowing it down to two. Although I liked the look of the second one, the cardboard packaging was attached in such a way that it prevented the zipper from being opened all the way.
When a sales associate appeared and asked if I needed help I said, "Yes, I'd like to see how well this case fits my netbook, do you have an open one I can try?" The employee (and I assumed he was an employee since he was wearing a royal blue shirt) shrugged his shoulders and laughed! Not a knee slapping laugh, but an audible chuckle, and said, "No. I don't have, like, a floor model."
See? My fault! I expected him to say, "Oh, let me open this one for you," especially since it was the more expensive of the two. I don't know if this guy works on commission but logically if the company makes money, the store stays open, he stays gainfully employed. But clearly this was not upper most in shrug-chuckle boy's mind.
Just so we're clear, this was not a matter of hunting down a manager, getting a key and unlocking a hermetically sealed security case. All he would have had to do was peel back two tiny pieces of scotch tape. God forbid! Doesn’t the blue shirt doesn't give you the authority to break tape and make a sale?
My Dad said, "What were you doing in Best Buy? They're too expensive. I could’ve made a case for you." I shuddered with visions of bubble wrap, cardboard and duct tape. "You should have asked for a manager," he grumbled. My Dad, retired with time to burn, doesn't hesitate to carry his concerns to the top of the food chain. He'll chat with supervisors, write letters, and take road trips to the home office to visit with district managers. Mr. Lord does not abide shoddy service. He is the Keyser Sose of retail.
"You're too nice," my Husband said. "I would have loaded up a basket with expensive equipment, found a store manager and said, 'This is what I'm NOT buying because of THAT employee.'" I wish I could’ve thought that fast. But I didn't. I’m ashamed to say I let it go. I apologize to my fellow shoppers. Because I said and did nothing this guy will go on giving sub-par service. One of you will be shrugged and/or laughed at.
But if Best Buy can't give me good service on a little thing, I'm not going to give them the chance to disappoint me on anything bigger. I've got an old Dell Inspiron that's on it's last legs. It weighs a ton and carbon dates back to the late 90s. So I'm overdue for a new laptop. Guess where I'm not going.
Leighann Lord is a standup comedian. See her perform 10/30 - 31 at Gotham Comedy Club with comedy legend Jim Mendrinos! Get your Tickets Now! Check out her other upcoming shows @ www.VeryFunnyLady.com. Join her on FaceBook. Follow her on Twitter. www.VeryFunnyLady.com Monday, October 19, 2009
Bikram Doesn't Blow, But It Ain't in the Budget
© 2009 Leighann Lord
I wish I liked cheesecake. Every time I watch "The Golden Girls" it seems like there’s no problem that can't be solved by chowing down on a generous late-night slice of cheesecake. But try as I might, I can't seem to develop a taste for it. I feel the same way about yoga.
Yoga, like cheesecake, has a devout following and makes people feel good but I haven't had much success. I have a few dusty yoga DVDs (subtext: drink coasters) in my house. They’re probably great if you already do yoga and, with basics firmly grasped, are looking to supplement your practice.
My bookshelf boasts a pristine copy of "Yoga for Dummies." This proves that at one point I was serious about thinking about maybe trying yoga, again. But alas yoga isn't a theoretical thing. It's a get-on-the-mat and do it thing. And I have, with less than inspiring results. I often joke in my act: "I hurt my knee doing yoga. I hyper-extended it. Now I can't 'drop it like it's hot.' I have to carefully set it down at room temperature."
I want to like yoga. I really do. I have friends who swear by it. They claim it gives them flexibility, energy, vitality, tranquility. I could use a big dose of all of that. And so I try yoga every few years thinking it will be different. Maybe now I'll be "ready." In my ideal version of myself, I am effortlessly calm, cool, and collected. I imagine that Yoga will help me achieve and maintain that. Yoga will quell my angst, anger and general impatience with life. And then the sweet voice of the instructor dashes my hopes with an impossible request: "Close your eyes . . . take a deep breath . . . contort your colon into the shape of a pentagram . . . please stop crying, you're disturbing the other students . . . "
This time it's my Husband who's invited me to take a yoga class with him. And not just any old yoga, Bikram Yoga. That's the hot one. Ninety minutes of yoga done on the surface of the sun. I tried it and it didn't totally suck. I love the heat and was careful not to over do it. Yoga is deceptive. You think you're not doing anything so you push it and the next thing you know, you're doctor says you have a partially torn meniscus, courtesy of the tree pose. That'll be $800. Namaste.
It was a big class. Apparently hot yoga is hot. This instructor was patient and kind to the new students. My body did a decent job of keeping up, but my mind? Not so much. Between listening, doing, judging, critiquing, my inner monologue wouldn't shut the hell up. "Are we having fun yet?" the instructor chirped. "No. No, we're not."
Bikram Yoga, developed by Bikram Choudhury, is practiced in a room heated to 105 degrees Celsius. Uh huh. I suspect Bikram's air conditioning broke down one day and he just went with it.
As we struck yoga poses in the heat, images of southern plantations sprang to mind. Is Bikram Yoga like picking cotton without the whip? But instead of a measly 90 minutes the slaves did it all day long. Lucky them. If only their owners had known how healthy working out in the heat could be. The slaves would have had to pay for the privilege.
I optimistically wondered what would happen if I really like yoga this time. It won't be just books and DVDs. There'll be gear: yoga clothes, yoga mat, yoga retreats, yoga friends. I am keenly aware that yoga isn't just a workout it's a life style and I'm not sure if that's in the budget. I'd have to squeeze it in between my food, clothing and shelter lifestyles.
Mostly though, my mind wandered over more pertinent concerns. "Oh dear God! Am I doing this right? Are my hands, feet, legs, arms, head, colon, breath in the right place? I hope I don't look ridiculous." That's what's so difficult about adult learning. We're way more self conscious, cautious, inhibited. There's a certain level of arrogance too. We think being good at one thing, should make us good at everything. Did we learn nothing from Michael Jordan's ill-fated move from basketball to baseball?
Childhood isn't just the last likely location of our innocence. It may also be the last time we can feel free enough to look foolish while trying new things. It's as if the pain and awkwardness of puberty is so scaring, we all vow -- Scarlet O'Hara style -- never again.
It's difficult for a classic Type A personality to relax and go with the flow but I'm trying. I force myself to focus. I tell myself it's okay to look foolish. I'm probably not the only one. If the universe can survive that, so can I. And maybe, if Bikram Yoga works out, there's hope for cheesecake.
Leighann Lord is a standup comedian. See her perform 10/30 & 31 at Gotham Comedy Club with husband and headliner Jim Mendrinos! Check out her upcoming shows @ www.VeryFunnyLady.com. Join her on FaceBook. Follow her on Twitter. www.VeryFunnyLady.com
I wish I liked cheesecake. Every time I watch "The Golden Girls" it seems like there’s no problem that can't be solved by chowing down on a generous late-night slice of cheesecake. But try as I might, I can't seem to develop a taste for it. I feel the same way about yoga.
Yoga, like cheesecake, has a devout following and makes people feel good but I haven't had much success. I have a few dusty yoga DVDs (subtext: drink coasters) in my house. They’re probably great if you already do yoga and, with basics firmly grasped, are looking to supplement your practice.
My bookshelf boasts a pristine copy of "Yoga for Dummies." This proves that at one point I was serious about thinking about maybe trying yoga, again. But alas yoga isn't a theoretical thing. It's a get-on-the-mat and do it thing. And I have, with less than inspiring results. I often joke in my act: "I hurt my knee doing yoga. I hyper-extended it. Now I can't 'drop it like it's hot.' I have to carefully set it down at room temperature."
I want to like yoga. I really do. I have friends who swear by it. They claim it gives them flexibility, energy, vitality, tranquility. I could use a big dose of all of that. And so I try yoga every few years thinking it will be different. Maybe now I'll be "ready." In my ideal version of myself, I am effortlessly calm, cool, and collected. I imagine that Yoga will help me achieve and maintain that. Yoga will quell my angst, anger and general impatience with life. And then the sweet voice of the instructor dashes my hopes with an impossible request: "Close your eyes . . . take a deep breath . . . contort your colon into the shape of a pentagram . . . please stop crying, you're disturbing the other students . . . "
This time it's my Husband who's invited me to take a yoga class with him. And not just any old yoga, Bikram Yoga. That's the hot one. Ninety minutes of yoga done on the surface of the sun. I tried it and it didn't totally suck. I love the heat and was careful not to over do it. Yoga is deceptive. You think you're not doing anything so you push it and the next thing you know, you're doctor says you have a partially torn meniscus, courtesy of the tree pose. That'll be $800. Namaste.
It was a big class. Apparently hot yoga is hot. This instructor was patient and kind to the new students. My body did a decent job of keeping up, but my mind? Not so much. Between listening, doing, judging, critiquing, my inner monologue wouldn't shut the hell up. "Are we having fun yet?" the instructor chirped. "No. No, we're not."
Bikram Yoga, developed by Bikram Choudhury, is practiced in a room heated to 105 degrees Celsius. Uh huh. I suspect Bikram's air conditioning broke down one day and he just went with it.
As we struck yoga poses in the heat, images of southern plantations sprang to mind. Is Bikram Yoga like picking cotton without the whip? But instead of a measly 90 minutes the slaves did it all day long. Lucky them. If only their owners had known how healthy working out in the heat could be. The slaves would have had to pay for the privilege.
I optimistically wondered what would happen if I really like yoga this time. It won't be just books and DVDs. There'll be gear: yoga clothes, yoga mat, yoga retreats, yoga friends. I am keenly aware that yoga isn't just a workout it's a life style and I'm not sure if that's in the budget. I'd have to squeeze it in between my food, clothing and shelter lifestyles.
Mostly though, my mind wandered over more pertinent concerns. "Oh dear God! Am I doing this right? Are my hands, feet, legs, arms, head, colon, breath in the right place? I hope I don't look ridiculous." That's what's so difficult about adult learning. We're way more self conscious, cautious, inhibited. There's a certain level of arrogance too. We think being good at one thing, should make us good at everything. Did we learn nothing from Michael Jordan's ill-fated move from basketball to baseball?
Childhood isn't just the last likely location of our innocence. It may also be the last time we can feel free enough to look foolish while trying new things. It's as if the pain and awkwardness of puberty is so scaring, we all vow -- Scarlet O'Hara style -- never again.
It's difficult for a classic Type A personality to relax and go with the flow but I'm trying. I force myself to focus. I tell myself it's okay to look foolish. I'm probably not the only one. If the universe can survive that, so can I. And maybe, if Bikram Yoga works out, there's hope for cheesecake.
Leighann Lord is a standup comedian. See her perform 10/30 & 31 at Gotham Comedy Club with husband and headliner Jim Mendrinos! Check out her upcoming shows @ www.VeryFunnyLady.com. Join her on FaceBook. Follow her on Twitter. www.VeryFunnyLady.comMonday, October 12, 2009
I Can't Hold My Bread
The Great Bagel Debacle
© 2009 Leighann Lord
© 2009 Leighann Lord
I think I've developed an allergy to wheat, specifically bagels. I am devastated because bagels and I go way back. They’re what I lived on when I was in college. The year I arrived at school, the cafeteria was shut down by The Board of Health. My dining options were vending machines or local restaurants. The latter would devour my meager college student budget. That's when I discovered bagels. They were cheap and filling. Eaten at the right time of day, I wouldn't have to buy anything else. A bagel a day, kept the abject poverty away.
I don't have a doctor's diagnosis to back me up. I'm still waiting for Congress to get back to me on the whole health care thing. My evidence is purely anecdotal. Every time I eat a bagel I get super tired. I'm talking steak and potatoes tired. A nap isn't optional, it's mandatory. I can't focus or function until I lay down and let the fatigue have it's way with me. So while most people can't hold their liquor, I can't hold my bread.
I'm also dismayed because the list of things I can't eat seems to be growing:
Anything Served in a College Food Court.
Admittedly, collegiate food has vastly improved over the years. Anything is a step up from vending machines. But by the time I get to a campus to do a show, everything is closing and I'm getting the dregs of the day. A sandwich on almost stale bread or a prepackaged freezer burned salad is not my idea of a healthy dinner. Nothing seems particularly tasty when you carry it away on a plastic tray.
Anything Sold by a Street Vendor.
This stuff is probably never good for you, no matter how old you are, but it's convenient. It seems over time, however, that our ability to process street food in a discreet way makes it a less desirable option. Ice cream trucks were ruined for me when my parents asked: "Where does the guy go to the bathroom and wash his hands?" Thanks, Mom and Dad.
Anything on a Bar Menu/Anything Fried
I'm hard pressed to think of anything on a bar menu, besides alcohol, that's not fried: chicken fingers, cheese sticks, nachos (fried just not on-site), spring rolls. Spring rolls are tricky. How can a food with Spring in the title be bad for you? It's a culinary Jedi mind trick. "This is not the healthy food you're looking for." Now while fried food doesn't make me sleepy, I can feel the pimples forming on my face as I'm chewing.
Burger King French Fries
Because in comparison to McDonald’s, BK’s fries are just plain nasty.
Again, none of this is by "Doctor's orders," yet. But if you're paying attention, your body tells you, long before any medical professional, what you should and shouldn't be eating. You and your colon have a conversation. "Really? You're gonna eat that? You know we can't handle that. How about a piece of fruit? Wait, is that organic?" My body is in league against me. If my stomach objects, my colon sustains and I am found in contempt.
My Parents on the other hand have an extensive list from their doctor of what they can't eat. This makes going out to dinner difficult. Apparently anything "commercially prepared" is code for: "This is going to kill you."
We've got a bad three-week run where my Parent's wedding anniversary, is followed by my Husband's birthday, which is topped off by my birthday. Woo Hoo! Good times if you can eat ice cream cake three weeks in a row. And let me assure you, just because you can doesn't mean you should.
What's cruel is that almost all of the "bad" food smells good and tastes even better. Bacon smells like love. The primrose path to gastrointestinal hell is: smell it, want it, eat it, regret it. Perhaps the human olfactory sense will evolve to the point where it can tell when food -- natural or processed -- is a no no. If it smells bad, it is bad. If it smells good, dig in.
"What’s that smell? Hot dogs and cupcakes? Yuck, but that tofu is making my mouth water. Can I get that on a bagel?"
Leighann Lord is a standup comedian. See her perform 10/17 at the Tribecca Performing Arts Center as part of the New York Underground Comedy Festival! Check out her upcoming shows @ www.VeryFunnyLady.com. Join her on FaceBook. Follow her on Twitter.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)