In which I digress...

I was just at the grocery store where I purchased some figs. For one thing, I thought I remembered that figs usually ripen in fall, so I thought I should grab them now while they're good. For another, I remembered that children's book, The Sweetest Fig about the guy who eats these figs which make his dreams come true, but then his dog eats the fig and they end up switching places so the dog could exact his revenge on the cruel master. And that's how it ends. Overall, kind of a creepy and potentially traumatic children's book. Not unlike The Brave Little Toaster. Has anyone seen that movie? IT'S FRIGHTENING. No wonder I turned out so weird. I watched that thing a hundred times. It was my favorite movie for a while, and it's SERIOUSLY intense. It may also explain my propensity for connecting with inanimate objects. Friends find it strange that my computer has a name (Blake Williams Poyer) and that I often speak to and sometimes stroke Blake when she's having trouble performing certain tasks. I just found one of the creepier clips from BLT. HA! "BLT" isn't that funny? I didn't even realize, I was just being lazy. Anyway, check it out.



See what I mean? Who wouldn't be traumatized? Apparently a lot of the founders of Pixar worked on BLT. No wonder I loved it.

But I was talking about figs. I can't recall ever having eaten a fig before. Fig Newton, yes, but not a fig.

Does anyone remember those Fig Newton commercials where somebody bites into a cookie and the loudness of the crunch ruins their day, so they have a Fig Newton instead. Ah yes, Fig Newton, for those discreet cookie eaters. Because heaven forbid you might make a noise while snacking, never mind what it tastes like. And for the record, I've never really cared for Fig Newtons. It's a polite cookie. The sort of thing you eat when offered at a party, but don't offer to take any home with you.

Figs, on the other hand, are quite good. I ate one while I was blogging just now. And they're small. A nice pre-dinner snack.

Wow, this whole post has been complete tosh, hasn't it?

Meh.

See you next time, dear readers.

Jules

PS- I got some great ideas on my monologue from Elizabeth (apparently she's the only one willing to be honest) and I will update with a newer, better version soon. Also, it will have a real ending. Ta ta!

I need help.

Blog readers UNITE! I need your help.
In a strange fever, in which my fingers began flying over the keyboard of their own accord, I have just written a monologue.
I think I mentioned that The Actor's Project uses only original material. This means you either get a monologue that was written by the director or one of the other members or you can write one yourself. Awesome. My showcase is in about three weeks, and after that, we start the whole process over again with new monologues for the next showcase. I would like to bring in this one, but I don't know how to finish it. Or if it's even any good. That's where you come in.

Keep in mind that I have just written this very quickly without a lot of editing. Also, try to imagine it in my crazy voice because I think it probably won't read as funny as it would be performed.

And if you have an idea for an ending, don't hesitate to give a shout.

I know I can count on you, dear readers. Goodnight.

Nerd
By Julia Poyer

So, I look like a fairly normal girl right? Even an attractive one, you might say. I’m just throwing that out there. Not fishing for compliments. What you don’t see, is that I have another side to me. One that’s become very…unhealthy. And I need to talk about it. And if you can’t talk about it to a support group, then who CAN you talk about it to? Right? Right.

So, here goes: Hi, my name is Julia. And I’m a nerd.

It’s been going on for a while, you know. (Laughs) A while. Who am I kidding? It’s been my whole damn life. I guess it started with Star Wars. And really, that wasn’t so bad. I mean everyone liked Star Wars. It was just an action film set in space what’s not to love?!

Now we’re talking about the Original Three not the travesties which came out later. Just wanna be clear.

Anyway, at first, it was fine, even kind of cool to like Star Wars. And then I started wearing my hair in Leia buns to school. That’s when they laughed at me. Oh yes. But even their laughter could not stop me.

Next, it was comic books. And I’m not just talking one or two. I’m talking STACKS of comic books. I have filled my parents garage with BOXES and BOXES of comic books. AND NO! I CAN’T JUST THROW THEM AWAY BECAUSE THEY MIGHT BE COLLECTIBLES SOMEDAY!

I’m sorry.

Finally, there was Star Trek. Star Trek the Original Series, Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: Voyager. I could go on all day. (Very serious) No really, you’ve got to stop me now because I could literally go on all day.

It’s started to affect my personal life. I was dating this guy. We were pretty serious, I mean, he was nerd too. And then, one night, he asked me. He asked me The Question: Who’s better Kirk or Picard?

I said I didn’t know how to choose. It’s like saying who do you love more, your father or your husband? I mean, you grew up with your father. You’ve loved him your whole life and sure he can be a little hokey sometimes, and his special effects are a bit cardboard-on-a-string but you love him anyway. And then your husband, who you haven’t known for as long but whom you’ve grown to love just as much.

My boyfriend said I was stalling, and that he needed an answer.

“Picard” I said. (Defiant) And I’d say it again. Because that Shakespeare-quoting bald man lives right here. (touches chest)

My boyfriend moved out the next day.

I need help.

Blog posts may be dangerous to you health.

Heaven help you. I have just downloaded several episodes of Star Trek: TNG, and they now occupy a folder next to the Justice League episodes in Windows Movie Maker.

Run.

Run now, and run fast.

And far.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

I'm already thinking about music selections...

OK, well I don't have music yet. But I have ideas, and you know how dangerous THOSE are.

And now I really ought to be asleep, so I'll leave the explanation of why I haven't been writing for another day. Or maybe not. Maybe I'll just pretend these hiatuses...hiati...hiat - erm, what IS the plural for 'hiatus'? - don't exist.

Goodnight.

Jules

I've Got Your Quirky Right Here, Buddy!

I see no one else is clawing their way into the guest blog arena. So you'll just have to deal with me and my nonsensical ramblings. I present to you a post I wrote in my notebook a while back and forgot to type up.

The incredibly nerdy just happened. (And, because I actually wrote this several weeks ago, you should ignore the 'just happened' part. Or go with it. Whatever you choose.)

OK, you know that I'm involved with a company called The Actor's Project or TAP, and that I perform in showcases with them, the purpose being to invite agents and casting directors to come see me and say, "Oooh. I want THAT one!" Or do you? Did I mention this? OK, well, now you know.

I've already performed in one showcase (I should mention these showcases are made up of original comedic monologues written by other members or the artistic director) and I'm currently rehearsing for another.

My previous monologue came fairly easily for me, but the new one was giving me a bit of trouble. Don't worry, I'm getting to the so-nerdy-you'll-laugh-at-me part.

Anyway. Every time I've done this monologue the director has told me that I need to go further, be more quirky.

What could possibly be more quirky than me, you ask?

Well, I was working on it and working on it and at the same time, watching a lot of Star Trek: The Next Generation. Well, not at the EXACT same time, 'cause that would be distracting and no wonder I wasn't getting anywhere with it.

No, the two were not occurring simultaneously, just around the same time.

So, as I said, I was working on it, trying to make it quirkier, when I suddenly thought, 'Why don't I try doing it as though I am Data from Star Trek?'

I removed the contractions (which for some reason made it instantly 30% funnier), and made my speech more precise. It also changed the emotion underneath. The essence of the monologue is about getting people to like her and be her friend. For Data this is also very important because he reveres humans and yearns to be more like them. Suddenly, my need in the monologue had a whole deeper level to it.

The next time I performed it for the director he said it was perfect. "Don't change a thing."

The moral of the story: Forget what your parents said; watching ever increasing quantities of science fiction is NOT a waste of time.

Goodnight and sweet dreams,
Jules

PS-Thanks Mom and Dad for never saying that to me.

Sleep Is For the Weak

AAARRGH! I can't sleep. This is not good. Particularly not-good because I couldn't sleep last night either. I only got about 5 hours. Maybe. That's being generous.

I was sure I'd be passed out by now, but I've just lain in bed for 50 minutes with my brain going a mile a minute. My brain can be extremely loud when it is going-to-bed time.

Pause for tangent: Sometimes, particularly when I am working, I will think something not-so-nice about a person, (Hey, it happens, at least I don't say it out loud), anyway, often when I do this, I say loudly (in my head) "Julia Shaun Poyer! That was way harsh! Phasers on stun, dude." Does anyone else do this? (Not the 'phasers' part, I'm sure. That's something I started saying after watching a lot of Star Trek. See, I often shout at the screen, particularly when the characters are being stupid or the guest star is being mean.

Pause to further note that the regular characters are seldom mean to each other unless they are under some form of mind control, which is nice because that means they are all upstanding moral role models, but it also means that the guest characters are often rather abusive because they have to provide the conflict, and I find myself shouting things like, "Oh no she did NOT!" and "DooOOODE (which translates as 'Dude' only it is said with emphasis on the second 'ooo' sound, turning it into a two syllabel word)! Set phasers to STUN, man!"

I actually talk a lot during the shows. Not just to shout, but also occasionally to mock.

Let me further pause (and I realize that button is probably going to stick now because I have pushed it one time too many) to say that I mock because I love.

An example: Worf the Klingon will be standing in the background looking at some flashing lights (as he does in every episode. For that matter, so do a lot of the characters. Why is it so important to stand around looking at flashing lights and pushing buttons at random on a starship? I see that if I ever want to travel into space, I will have to learn these important skills. Furthermore, what the hell is a level one diagnostic, and why are they ALWAYS RUNNING ONE WHENEVER SOMETHING GOES SCREWY? CLEARLY IT DIDN'T HELP THE FIRST SIX BILLION TIMES YOU'VE TRIED IT, WHAT DO YOU THINK IT WILL DO THIS TIME?)

ahem

Are you following this stream of concsiousness at all? No? Excellent.

What was I saying? Right, Worf. Both times I have typed his name I have typed Work and then had to correct it. My brain is unhinged, continue reading at your peril.

Worf (yes, I just did it again) will appear on the screen looking concernedly at his flashing lights and look up to say, "Captain, there appears to be a Romulan D'deridex class warship/Klingon Bird-of-Prey/Ferengi Marauder/unknown alien threat approaching. Suggest we go to red alert." I will then say, (in a fair imitation of Worf's voice) "Captain, my hair is looking particularly nancy-boy today. Suggest we break out the gel." Also, no one listens to Worf. I feel bad for the guy, really. Jean-Luc will ask everyone for their suggestions on what to do about that episode's problem, and Worf will invariably say, "I don't trust him/her/it," or "It looks dangerous, Captain. I suggest we shoot first and ask questions later."

"Well now, Mr. Worf," Jean-Luc will say with a smile, "Let's give him/her/it the benefit of the doubt, shall we? Sure we've seen evidence that she/he/it is a murderous, deceitful and dangerous being, but maybe it/he/she just needs to hug it out." Or, "Yes it seems like a very dangerous situation, we must send at least four of the main cast down there to check it out. Don't send any red shirts, just in case, but definitely send Wesley because none of the fans like him."

Pause: I like Wesley. There, I said it. The truth is out. I like Wesley Crusher. And now that they've sent him off to Starfleet Academy, I actually miss him. For one thing, he was really fun to mock.

There is a wealth of Star Trek information on Wikipedia. Am I surprised? No, not really. But I find it amusing that all the pages for Star Trek mythology have little boxes at the top which say, "Please verify this information and give us our respectability back." I have news for you, Wikipedia. YOU NEVER HAD ANY!!! MUAHAHAHAHAHA!

Am I tired yet? No. Wasn't there a subject I was pursuing way back at the start of this madness?

Eh, who cares. I also often say, "Oh, Jean-Luc. Hug?" And "Aww, Data, I heart you." And "Oh, Will Riker, rein in the smug, would you?"

It should, therefore, come as no surprise that I bought a dress from my store the other day.

Wait, let me explain in an order that is recognizable by the space-time continuum.

We got these new t-shirts in for fall. They're cute with some interesting seaming in the body, but nothing too special. Then, a regular customer came in, saw the shirt and said, "That's really cute. I don't know why, but it looks very Star Trek to me." Suddenly, it looked very Star Trek to me too, and in that instance I wanted it. Fortunately for me, I tried it on and it didn't look very good.

Fast forward to a few days ago when we get a new dress in. If the t-shirt sort of reminds one of ST, this dress positively shouts ST. I'm not kidding, I'll have to post a picture. I tried it on, and it looked good. I bought it.

Now, before you get all judge-y and start calling the Funny Farm, let me point out that I get a 50% discount (and this was already one of the least expensive dresses in the whole store) and that I've been looking for more dresses that I can wear in the fall/winter. It has a turtleneck, and I can wear it with my black boots. And it looks good on me. The fact that it looks very much like a Star Trek uniform is really just an added bonus. I'm going to find some little round pins to put in the neck to display my rank. I'm kidding about that part. Probably.

Must sleep. alksjdfpoialwe;fjl;a saifla ;ilwjali hgakzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Guest Blog: F. Radcliffe AKA My Sister

The following is a guest post from my sister. Enjoy!

EWWWWW.*

Having just prepared and eaten a tasty repast, I was ready to settle back down to work. I decided to pop in an episode of The Outer Limits since my work is so boring. But guess who ate right through the video cable even though I got a brand-new entertainment center to stop this kind of shenanigan? That's right: my youngest cat Parker, henceforth to be known (at least for the duration of the afternoon), as The Little Shit.

So I went into my room and got a new cable and came back out to the living room and moved the entertainment center and put in the new cable and put the entertainment center back and turned everything on and sat back down in front of my laptop.

I opened Kensington, my long-suffering laptop, to discover a bug upon his keyboard. Sort of a little grub thing, amber in color and about a centimeter long. I called The Little Shit to come eat it and reached for my Swiss Army knife to lift it onto the floor. When I turned around again, it was to the sight of the bug's wee bottom disappearing under one of the keys.

So I used the knife to lever the keys partway up without snapping them out of the keyboard, to see where the bug had gone. It was under the "P." I snapped the P all the way out of the keyboard and saw that the bug was firmly wedged underneath a little scissor-lift-type mechanism that gives the keys their bounce. And that there was bug goo on said mechanism, because when I had levered the key up from the bottom edge, of course the upper edge went down, right SQUISH! on the bug.

But it wasn't dead. Oh, no. It was alive enough to wriggle itself firmly under the mechanism where no knife edge could reach it.

Now, I should explain that it is very hot in my apartment. Despite the fact that I've had the air conditioner running since yesterday, the thermometer's needle is so far to the right there aren't any more numbers for it to play with. And my thermometer goes to seventy-five, so it's got to be at least eighty and--I'm just guessing here--roughly 9000% humidity.

So I'm getting pretty exasperated at this point at the heat and at The Little Shit and at the fact that my computer has a literal bug in it, and I decide to bring out the big guns. I plug in the vacuum and aim the hose at the keyboard.

This is when my circuit overloads.

Now, I'm afraid that if I leave the bug out of my sight long enough to go down and flip the fuse box, it will burrow under some other key and I will never find it again and it will die an ignoble and sticky death* and then get roasted some day when Kensington has been running for like five hours and is nice and hot and then I will smell dead bug toast.

I do not, on the whole, desire to smell dead bug toast.

So I drag Kensington and the vacuum into the next room and plug it into a socket that still works and try to vacuum the bug out. But it must be bag-changing time, because the hose not only fails to suck up the bug, it actually SPITS OUT A DIFFERENT BUG onto my keyboard. I suck bug #2 back up right quick and put the hose away.

At this point it's pretty clear that bug #1 is d-a-i-d dead. So I give up and accept that I'm a murderer, and go downstairs to flip the switch on the fuse box. On the way I smell that my downstairs neighbors are cooking something delicious and that makes me hate them a little because how come they get to eat delicious-smelling food all the time that makes me feel at once hungry, and bad about my own salami-based lunch, and hot because of that whole convection thing? Bah!

And also, I pause to check my mail, which contains only a very large bill. Apparently it is not chewing gum that hinders my ability to walk, it is trying to open an envelope, because my foot swings out in a wild trajectory, lands on the hem of my BRAND NEW REALLY ADORABLE SKIRT (the purchase of which, incidentally, brings my skirt-owning total to two) and rips a gaping hole in it. Great. See, clearly this is why I shouldn't own skirts. Or vacuums. Or laptops. Or TVs. Or--and this one is important--cats.

So when I come back the air conditioner is back on although there is no discernible drop in temperature. I put the vacuum away and take Kensington into the bathroom, where by a cunning triple deployment of moisturizing stick, tweezers, and Q-tip I am able to scrape maybe a third of the bug out from under the P.

I decide that now that the bug is dead and there is nothing I can do about the dead bug toast, I might as well pop the P key back in place and go ahead and type upon it for all it's worth--surely the bug can't get any more squished, or dead, than it already is.

After I do this, I realize that I don't ever use that P key.

A couple of years ago, The Little Shit fed Kensington some lemonade** and ever since then, I've used a wireless Bluetooth keyboard. So I should have just let that stupid little bug hide under the keys to his little buggy heart's content.

The Moral of the Story Is: Well, actually, I don't know what the moral of the story is. Like the fable of the Cop and the Flaming Squirrel, every step seemed right at the time. When one is sitting down to brainstorm ways to get a bug out from under one's keyboard, one is generally too focused on that specific problem to ask whether one really needs to get said bug out of one's keyboard. So I suppose the moral is, Always ask yourself whether you really ought to do that thing you're about to do.


*A phrase I stole from my friend, Kate. She used it to refer to a plum getting squished in the grocery bag.

**And by "lemonade," I might mean "beer."

*This post rated TV-MA for language.

See? That was fun! Anyone else want to give it a shot?

CAPS LOCK JULIE

I've started a new story. Don't think I didn't hear that collective groan. "Why, Julia?" you say, "Why are you telling us about YET ANOTHER story that you will NEVER FINISH?"

"No," you continue, holding up a hand, "I don't want to hear about it. You will only tease me and never let me read it."

I'm sorry, I have to interrupt your protestations to tell you that I am at work and I just looked out the window for a bit of inspiration and I saw a girl walking with her boyfriend across the (very busy) street and she is NOT WEARING SHOES. I hate to use a newfangled expression, but the only thing I can think of to describe how I'm feeling is: WTF. PUT SOME SHOES ON YOU NUTCASE! THIS IS NYC, YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT'S DOWN THERE. RATS HAVE PROBABLY POOPED ON THAT PAVEMENT.

Whew. She's gone. I feel better now.

Where was I? Oh right, I was telling you how you feel about my starting a new story. Don't you love when I do that? You have NO CONTROL. MUAHAHAHAHAHA.

Ahem.

The caps key is getting quite a workout today.

Hmm, that reminds me of another post that I have partially finished in the little notebook I carry with me everywhere I go. It was about guest blogs. I wanted to offer my readers a chance to write a post of their own! Now, I know that some of you already have places to ramble incoherently just as I do (actually, you people tend to ramble much more coherently than I...) but for those of you who don't, I offer the use of my blog. Do you have something on your mind that you'd like to get off your chest? (If so, you are probably confused about anatomy. Why not blog about it and let us share in your confusion!) Perhaps Elizabeth would like to share her bookmark story? It would go nicely with my bra strap story. No pressure. I'm just putting it out there.

I am now severely off-topic. That's the problem with not thinking things through before I start writing. YOU NEED A PLAN JULIA!

It's a sci-fi story (surprise!) but humorous. Not at all serious science fiction. It's about a rather cowardly bunch of space-cargo-moving-sometimes-illegal-smugglers-sometimes-legal-shippers-sort-of. Confused? As am I. They're like UPS, but in space. And sometimes on the wrong side of the LAW. "The LAW will judge YEW!" *Snork*

It's from first-person perspective. How do I know this? That's just how it appeared in my head. I 'heard' the main character's voice speaking to me quite clearly. She's a mechanic.

We call him the Alien because, well, he's an alien. Also, no one can pronounce his actual name. If you were to write it it might look something like this: Hurmnrkk. Saying it involves a great deal of teeth grinding and gargling with broken glass. In other words, I wouldn't recommend it. We also call him Granite for his stony appearance and demeanor. And sometimes Chatterbox for the way he never says a word. Seriously, I think I've only heard him speak a handful of times in my whole four years on board. Most of those were "no", "yes", "perhaps", and "please". Generally, he just sort of looks at you and grunts. A lot of the security guys are the same way, but that's because they have more muscles than brains. Somehow, I don't think that's the case with ol' Granite Face. His race is known for their intelligence. How the hell he ended up with this motley crew, I have no idea. I started to ask him once, but he just blinked at me.

That could probably use a bit of editing, but I just wanted to give you a snippet because I'm mean.

Deal with it.

JULIA OUT.