Considering that I just wrote an entry concerning my anxiety about dog class, you would probably be surprised to hear that, this past Friday, I was on stage with an improv group. But believe me, no one was more surprised than me when I found myself walking up to the stage, too late to turn back. Yikes!
But you know what? It was fun. Mostly because I didn’t have to improv myself (as a writer, I am used to always having the option to revise: off the cuff does NOT work for me) but instead just give prompts and let the pros go at it. Which they did, so well that I laughed pretty much nonstop the entire time. I was so impressed that they could think and react that quickly. My brain is way too slow. All in all, it was a great night, and it confirmed to me that yes, I can still get up in front of people, which is a good thing because come April I’m going to be doing that quite a bit. Although at least then I’ll have my book in hand, and something somewhat prepared. Otherwise we’d all be in trouble.
Also this weekend, I finally got to Brokeback Mountain, which was great. It’s a little—I don’t want to say slow—thoughtful, maybe, with lots of gorgeous scenic shots and long, meaningful silences. But it will stick with you: I’m STILL thinking about it, which to me always means a movie is good if not great. I recommend it. Then, on Saturday night, I watched Breaking Away (which I’d never seen in its entirety) with my husband, followed by the documentary Born Into Brothels with my mom yesterday. Step back, I am SO on the movie thing right now. Breaking Away was great, as I expected, and I loved seeing all the dated stuff that reminded me of my childhood (it was made in 1979). Biggest surprise, though: how hot Dennis Quaid was back then. Good lord! My husband kept shooting me looks when I was like, “Look at Dennis Quaid’s abs! Holy crap!” and “Who knew Dennis Quaid was such a babe when I was nine?” It was a little distracting.
Born into Brothels was completely different, of course, but really compelling, as well as heartbreaking. My mom and I are on this big weekend documentary kick, following March of the Penguins last week. Next up is either something about the Amish and drug use, or one of those 7 UP ones (not the drink, the ones where they follow a group of kids, checking in on them every seven years). We shall see.
Finally—I know I’ve exhausted you, sorry—I heard on GMA this morning that tomorrow, January 24th, is said by some to be the most depressing day of the year. Why? They didn’t say. But maybe because it’s mid-winter, and still short days? At any rate, this seems to be something we should be preparing for, taking an offensive stance. Personally, I’m going to go for chocolate. And maybe some ABBA songs. Maybe a knock knock joke or two. Oh, and of course, a movie. That always helps. Right?