The Binge, Revisited

 “Netflix gives you 15 seconds between episodes to decide whether or not you’re doing anything with your life today”

--- Internet Meme

Image by Rob Dobi via https://bit.ly/2PT63qy

 

A little over five years ago, I was stuck at home, unable to go out because of a health issue. No, there wasn’t a pandemic, everyone else was out and about, eating in restaurants, shopping in stores, and going barefaced. My issue was a new hip, and honestly, at least back then I had an excuse to lie around and be unproductive. Now? We’ve reached the Pinterest portion of the pandemic, and everyone is all over social media By everyone, I mean, not me. Sorry, but artisanal bread, kale chips, and gourmet chick pea salad is not how I roll, even if I am trapped in the house.

 

Initially, I bought a few sacks of flour, collected enough butter and eggs to choke a horse, and stockpiled a collection of Tasty and Buzzfeed food videos of deliciously decadent treats. Haven’t made any of them yet. The reason? I've fallen down the rabbit hole of online streaming. Between Hulu, Netflix, YouTube, and Amazon Prime, there are several thousand movies and shows to choose from, and honestly, binge-watching has become my video Valium of sorts. If I can’t sleep, Mary Tyler Moore, James Bond, Bob Newhart, and classic film noir movies are always there for me.

 

Five years ago, I wrote about the beauty of the binge, and how when there is downtime, it helps to have a distraction. In 2015, I wrote:

“What’s the answer? A good binge, that’s what. Now before you think anything untoward, I am not talking about vodka or chocolate cake. The new “Lost Weekend” is known as “binge-watching” and it’s perfect for those times when you don’t want to deal with the crapfest that passes for entertainment on some networks. There are a lot of ways to binge-watch too, depending on what you have available.”

That is still mostly true, except now, the crapfest is, sadly, the national news. It seems that everything is blowing up, from COVID numbers to fireworks factories, and Twitter rants, and that gets old after a while. Back then, however, if I couldn’t find something good online, there was Chet’s Video, with their delicious popcorn and candy. They even delivered movies for me while I healed. I miss that place.

The bonus now though? With online streaming, the viewer is the boss. It might be just a coincidence, but the TV “clickah” is actually called the “remote control.” How perfect is that? We’re all stuck learning remotely, working remotely, and doing so much else in an isolated way, and now we get to push some buttons and rule the world. Well, at least the screen anyway. I can wield a remote like a pro, zipping through channels at a seizure-inducing pace. I can’t make the pandemic go away. I am powerless to open the schools, I can’t sit on my favorite barstool at the Barnacle, munching on clams and sipping the perfect Bloody Mary. No hugging my friends, or traveling, or going to a ballgame. So much of what was normal in the “Before Times” just can’t happen now. So, this is one part of life that is entirely up to me, and you bet your sweet bippy, I’m going for it.

Back then, it was frustrating to be physically limited. No bike rides, no badminton matches, I couldn’t even walk Penny the Pug. Now the limits are different, and while I'm grateful to be healthy, it's still frustrating. We are moving into a new phase though, and just maybe in a few months, some of what we are missing will come back. In the meantime, I will be turning away from the 24-hour news cycle of death and destruction, and going for the beauty of the binge. 

 

 

 

 

Here We Come A-Caroling

"I think you should take your job seriously, but not yourself - that is the best combination."

--Dame Judi Dench

Who doesn't love Dame Judi Dench? I'm still ticked that she was killed off in the Bond movie Skyfall. First, they came for my boyfriend Pierce Brosnan and replaced him with some blond guy, and then they burn the infamous M? Even though she isn't a Bond girl anymore, Dame Judi has always been smart, determined, and talented; she also does it all without having to look like a walking X-ray that's been Botoxed into something resembling a goalie mask without the air holes.

While I am not a professional actor, I was lucky enough recently to be cast in the local production of the Dickens classic, "A Christmas Carol" and let me tell you, acting is hard. It's not just memorizing lines and reading them with some emotion. If it were just that, we'd all be walking around with sacks of Emmys and Oscars. The lines are only the first part of it. Memorization is vital, but it's more than that. It's not simple recitation; it's becoming the character who is speaking the line, walking into their world and taking an audience with you. Sure, no pressure, right?

In the case of Dickens, his characters all have British accents. I struggled with this. In the first few reads, my accent was somewhere between Masshole, the Mason Dixon line and a Manchester United fan. I was convinced seventeen dead Irish relatives would leap out of the graveyard to haunt me for pretending to be a subject of Queen Victoria. Hey, it's a ghost story, it could happen.  

My roles were that of Bob Cratchit's daughter, Belinda, Fan Scrooge, the doomed younger sister of Ebenezer, and the kid at the end who buys the turkey. They call him, oddly enough, Turkey Boy. The show was produced by local director Peyton Pugmire of Creative Spirit, and it wasn't a full-on play, but rather a staged reading. Characters are costumed but have scripts, so it's dramatic, but there's no colossal set with dozens of props. The production was performed in the Jeremiah Lee Mansion, so really, what else is there to add?

My acting talents so far have been limited to some improv, high school, and college plays, and lying to my children about certain holiday icons which will go unnamed here. I found it difficult to believe that in less than two weeks, and only seven short rehearsals, that I could accomplish anything without tripping over something or setting something on fire. Thankfully, the candles were battery operated, and I did not land in a heap at the bottom of the impressive mahogany staircase. That is a massive win for me; often just getting across the room whilst remaining upright is a struggle for me.

After the first rehearsal, which was just a read through by the actors, I drove home and my face hurt from smiling so much. The experience of meeting new people, doing something I'd always dreamed of, and learning more about acting put me over the moon. The cast was amazing; on the first night, everyone there was already in character, with perfect accents and expressions. I was furiously highlighting all 10 of my lines and scribbling notes like "Get a notebook" and "look solemnly at Ebenezer." Oh, and there was singing too. Holy Wassail, Batman, bring out the figgy pudding and don't forget the cup of good cheer. What could be more fun than that?

 (photo courtesy of Peyton Pugmire)

Costuming, that's what. The costumer was nothing short of a miracle worker. It's not easy making a big, loud, Irish redhead look like a male Victorian child, but she had it under control. Finally, we got to use the Jeremiah Lee space for two dress rehearsals before the performances. It's very authentic in there, right down to the balmy 40-degree temperature on a windy December night. Jeremiah Lee died of pneumonia after spending hours in a cornfield evading British troops, and I was definitely channeling his shivering, despite some very modern Cuddle Duds under my Victorian garb.

This is a weekly paper, so allow me to step into the role of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, and report that all performances were top-notch, got rave reviews, and played to a sold-out house. I'm sure that will happen, but I'm writing this ahead of opening night. Dame Judi is right when she says to take the work seriously, not yourself. I had moments of sheer terror during this process, as well flubbed lines, missed cues and one wardrobe malfunction, but all there is to do at those times is to keep going and not let it get at you. Stuff like that happens to me every day, at least in the play there were actors around me who had the same experiences. Is all the world a stage? Thankfully no, most of us do not dress up like one of those strange Christmas dolls, frozen in song, but if you get the chance to try it? Do it. It's transformational, at least for a few days. You can go back to your real life anytime, spend some time in another world, you'll be glad you did. Cast photo courtesy of Peyton Pugmire.

One Of Those Days

That actually feels like two, you know? Like it's so bad, I'm amazed that so much sh*t could be crammed into such a short period. Starting with everyone getting off to school etc late. Much screaming and wailing. Then, technical internet issues with the job, because who doesn't love a website that wobbles now and then? Good times. There's a reason I'm not a software developer. It's because they cannot be trusted...haha, I kid. Ok, not really. Seriously, computer people are supposed to be smart. Get it together Google guys.

Then, whilst heading into the high school gym to pick up the cheer girl (who was not very cheery the last time I saw her at o'dark thirty, shrieking her head off)  I do an epic pavement dive on black ice. Like windmill arms, fat ass flying in the air, crashing on the newly replaced hip kind of gravity check. If it were the Olympics, even the Russian judge would have given me a 10. So, I pick myself up, and keep walking, I mean, what choice is there? I'm the "Sink or Swim" girl, right? Ya, falling down is likely way easier on a beach. But hey, there's my girl cheering her heart out and it's all OK.

BAM! It's not OK. Down again, this time on the gym floor, because, I don't know, I just never learn or something. The purse goes flying, the phone is pretty smashed and the hip that ISN'T aching like a bitch in heat from the parking lot drubbing,  might now be a candidate for being replaced, just like it's companion hip. Which, by the way, is now clicking and creaking, because it's ceramic and metal and I never have been good with things that are breakable. Oh, and the cheer girl is pretending she doesn't know me, and I can't say I blame her.

It's not that bad, I mean, bumps and bruises, part of a New England winter, but today? It has to be today, when I was all feeling good about auditioning for an improv troupe, that I've wanted to be in, oh, only for the last two years or so. Did that last night and LOVED it. What's it like to want something, something that makes you so jazzed and happy? I think I know. Of course, between being tossed on hard surfaces, I check my email (and my health insurance policy) and find the dreaded "Thanks but no thanks we're going with someone else" email. Fabulous. It would be one thing if 20 people had auditioned, but there were four people, so ya, it appears I do indeed suck at this theater thing. And I wanted it so much. SO MUCH.  Also, apparently I suck at just regular walking around.

Thankfully there was one bright spot, lunch with present and former co-workers. Good times, good food and the one part of the day that didn't require an ice pack, a Motrin the size of Rhode Island and a box of Bandaids. I'm so happy when I'm around other writers and journalists. I will concentrate on that for now. So done with this damn day.