So, I got this neat little award-thingy from lovely and oh-so-talented Allison over at Allison Writes.  (I’m gonna insert the link here a few more times, just in case you didn’t get it.  Or your aim is bad.)  It’s called the “Honest Scrap” Award.

Which I think I got because I share inappropriate amounts of my life with the internet.  Though in all fairness, when I first saw it, I thought it said “Honest Crap,” to which my response was “Fair enough.  At least she’s honest.”

The idea is that now, I’m supposed to write 10 things about myself that no one knows, and pass this award on to 10 people, which to be honest, feels a little chain letter-ish.  You know, like the ones that went around in the 90’s that promised that if you sent this e-mail to 10 people, Bill Gates would donate crayons to starving goats in Africa.  Or something of that nature.  But because I’m narcissistic enough to think anyone gives a shit, (and in the mood to alienate a few future employers,) I’ll share 10 thing about myself that no one knows.  (Not no one in the world, more like no one outside my apartment; you want 10 things my husband doesn’t know about me and we’re going to have to start talking about tampons.)

But I’m not going to pass on the award.  I know, I’m a bitch.  Hear me out.  I read a lot of really kick-ass blogs.  Like, REALLY kick-ass blogs.  Blogs that make me pee my pants.  Blogs that make me think.  Blogs that make me wish I knew these people in real life.  Blogs that make me wish I were these people in real life.  And I’ve only got one chance to award them.  (Because after one you’re just getting clingy.)

So I need to do it properly.  And “Honest Scrap” just doesn’t describe how I feel about these blogs.  It describes my blog perfectly, because that’s what my blog is; it’s the scraps from my mind that my husband got tired of listening to and I now share with the world without alteration or exaggeration.  (Or maybe just a little.)  But it just doesn’t cover the true admiration and obsession I have over the words of these amazing women.

So I’m saving it.  Saving it for the award that truly describes how I feel.  Maybe it’ll come along, or maybe I’ll make up my own.  In the meantime, I’ll continue to sit in the corner, watching them from afar and waiting for the chance.  To ask them.  To dance.

I think that’s from an 80’s song.

Honest Crap or 10 Things I Doubt Anyone Gives a Shit About, But Hey, I Can Say I Tried

1) I have to clean my ears out after EVERY shower.  If I don’t, it feels like my brains are leaking out my ears.

2) Three days ago, I watched Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back for the first time.  Afterward, I tweeted Kevin Smith, professing my love to him.  I then proceeded to spend the next two days fantasizing that Kevin Smith found my blog, became enamored with it, and called to insist that he sponsor it, offering me 50K/year to write my blog.  He also may or may not have fallen in love with me.

3) I despise inside jokes, even when I’m in on them.

4) Since I was very young, I’ve had a stutter.  By now I’ve gotten good enough at covering it up that most people don’t notice it at all, except when I’m very tired, under a lot of stress, or ordering at a restaurant.

5) As a kid, sleeping in was not considered an acceptable use of time.  As a result, if I sleep past about 10am (which I’ve been doing more recently,) I get really agitated about the time lost, even if I have nothing important to be doing.

6) My husband and I have an empty growler on our kitchen counter, into which we throw out beer bottle caps.  I wrote the date on the growler’s cap, so we can see how long it took us to fill it.

7) I recently rekindled my childhood love affair with Mike&Ikes, thanks to the vending machine in the laundromat.

8 ) My gender exceptions include Sarah Chalke, Kari Byron, and Uma Therman.  I would add Stacy London to the list but I’m afraid she’d judge me.

9) I judge people based on what’s in their grocery carts.  I also hold the illusion  that the mere fact that I drive a manual car makes me better than everyone else.

10) I love getting my nails done, but I’m terrible at maintaining them.  The polish on my toes is from six weeks ago.

So, my husband and I were at Braum’s tonight, enjoying sundaes (Peanut-Butter Fudge, baby!) and talking politics.  This is something that we do fairly often, partially because I truly enjoy hearing Kyle’s take on the issues, and partially because we belong to the One True Church of NPR, which prompts a lot of discussions.  Tonight, we were primarily talking about the current discussion on health care.  And it got me thinking.  (I know, dangerous, right?)

There are several major industries, (health care/insurance, the banks, and the auto industries,) all which have been closely examined, and in some cases revamped, by the government.  Separate instances where the industry has either topped or bottomed out, due to the poor decisions and greed of people, and had to be fixed by the government in order that they continue to serve the American way of life.  Here in America, the free market is deeply valued; for many, it personifies the rugged individualism that has made us great.  And yet, sometimes it seems as if this free market has become our very demise.

*Important Note*  I would like to take a moment to establish that I am in NO WAY about to suggest that we become communists or socialists or whatever -ists Fox News is using to scare people this week.  I am merely discussing some of its flaws and opening a dialogue about the possibility of its evolution .  So let’s lay off the “Die you heathen commie bitch!” comments, and save them for when I discuss religion and my hatred of Paula Deen.

The theory behind the free market is that whomever has the greatest skill, the most talent, and the best luck for selling a product or service will be rewarded for their hard work and perseverance.  But it seems as if in this day and age, this mentality is immature, and childish .  The free market system has been taken to extremes by some people.  Hard work and creativity only profit so much before they plateau, and for many companies, anything other than serious growth is unacceptable.  In my time in the retail industry, I couldn’t help but notice that every year sales had to be higher than the year before, and we had to sell more items per sale than the year before.  These companies were taking in millions in profits, yet we required to top our last year’s sales by at least 15%, regardless of the current economy or political climate.   Growth has to be attained by any means necessary, be it lowering the quality of the product or manipulating the costumers to purchase more.  We can no longer trust that those at the head of corporations will make community-responsible choices or act with the best interest of the average American in mind.  Such companies will continue forward with only profit in mind and never let up, even when it means that they’ve become detrimental to the very consumers that they seek.

In our earliest years as a nation, the free-market system was one of the things that made this country strong.  It drove innovation, instilled a strong work-ethic, and rewarded the creative and intelligent.  Countless inventions grew from the need to do things faster, cheaper, and more efficiently.  But it almost feels as if  we’ve reached the pinnacle of free market’s success, and it is slowly turning toxic.  I do not suggest that we abandon the free market system, as it is what has made us great; but I wonder that maybe it’s time that we stop worshiping blindly at the alter of the free market system, and instead talk, and think, and see if there are other ways of living life and doing business that are equally valid.

Ho.  Ly.  Shit.

Three days ago, our theatre closed our production of Miss Saigon, and I am just now recovering from it.  I’ve had some pretty wild experiences in theatre, but this show was just a 7 layer dip of ridiculous.  I’ve always thought that audiences would be amazed by the flurry of motion and activity that goes on in the dark behind the curtain.  But this time, I think the drama and suspense backstage actually rivaled that which took place in the light.

This was definitely a challenging show for the run crew.  It was practical lighting heavy, the set was complex and constantly moving, actors were shedding costumes as they hit the wings and immediately being stuffed into new ones, and props were enormous in both size and number.  Numbers of crew members needed to run this show were twice what’s usually needed, and every one of us was running around like our hair was on fire.

Oh, and did I mention the helicopter?

That’s right.  A fucking helicopter.  That had to fly in and out over the stage.  And be rigged with what essentially equals out to rope and some pulleys.  The entire effect-flying it in with landing lights and spinning propeller, landing it on a platform, actors boarding it and sneaking out the false back, and flying back out-involved 11 crew members.  It was my job to run power to the landing lights and propeller motor, which I was also in charge of running during the “flight”.  It was a very tense process, since not only was an 800lb piece of scenery flying over people’s heads, it was a very tight fit to navigate it in and around lights, truss, cable, drops, and the millions of other things that live in the air above a stage.  Every time it slipped past the truss, missing a light by an inch-and-a-half, the oxygen level of the room dropped significantly.

So add to that a full-size pink Cadillac and two dry ice foggers the size of a regulation dumpster and it’s easy to see that we had our hands full.  But what really made this show hell is the fact that all this was going on in the dark, in a tiny space crammed to capacity with scenery, spider-webbed with cable, and teeming with black-clad people trying to work around and on top of each other.  It was in the midst of this chaos that our private hell broke loose.

Running the helicopter was always intense.  Crouched in a corner, working quickly in the dark, trying to see by the light of the flashlight tucked under my chin, while a ten-foot chain-link fence topped with barbed wire squeezes between me and the blackout curtain and two actors are making a costume change by my elbows.  From the moment we were on stand-by until the helicopter was safely stowed and cables coiled, my heart raced, blood pounded in my ears, and my hands were cold.  After one particularly stressful run, (tracking lines became tangled and wrapped around the cable, the fence unit became wedged between me and where my cable had to plug in, and the helicopter was about 12 seconds late flying in,) the light from the flashlight I held shook.  The war taking place on stage never entered my line of focus; the helicopter sound effect was secondary to the rattling of the chain-link fence passing by me and the cursing of those pushing it, and the screams of the Vietnamese left behind to die were drowned out by the shouting between my co-workers and myself.  Sometimes, it really felt as if we were the ones in a war zone, doing whatever necessary to ensure that our group got in and out safely.  After it was complete, we would scurry into our respective groups to huddle together, discuss how it had gone, and plan for our next move.

And all that for a 45 second spectacle.  One moment out of a three hour show.

Is it any wonder I spent the next three days lying on the couch watching Hell’s Kitchen?

I kind-of know how they feel.