Can it be three whole weeks since my last post?

That's it. I'm fired!

Okay, not really.

So much has been going on, most of which is not blog fodder, so I must abstain. But here are a few things that are worth sharing.

First, I did several hours of yard work today and if I didn't know I did it, I wouldn't notice I did it. There are many parts of home ownership that suck. This is one of them.

While I was working on the yard, I applied some sunscreen so I could try to avoid premature death. I bought some sunscreen at the Greenfields Market that is all-natural, so it's not as bad for the environment or anything (because some of them are pretty bad). It was made with zinc oxide, so it made me sort of white and pasty (or should I say, "whiter and pastier"?) than normal. When I was finally done being outside, I went into the shower to return to my normal human state, and I could not wash that stuff off. It took a ton of soap and water and actual, factual scrubbing and carrying on, and the water was still beading up on my skin like I had been freshly waxed. It was like tar.

(Aside: Remember Actual Factual Bear?)

Part of what I did was clean up some leaves that were leftover from fall. I found a whole bunch of them in my brassierre when I took a shower. Awesome!

This week was the best week I've ever had at work, ever. I got nominated by my peers for an important and prestigious award - and then I won it. And all of this happened without anyone spilling the beans to me, so that when they announced it in front of everyone in my division (100 or so people), I was so surprsed that I instantly started weeping and walking around in a daze like Miss America.

Now, I know what some of you are thinking: Jennifer always cries. And it's partially true, but I really try to keep the out-loud-and-in-public weeping to the minimalest minimum at work. They don't smile kindly on ladies in career separates getting their weep on in earnest 'round about my corporatey-corporate workplace. But I did it. And it was on a teleconference too! I was pretty embarrassed. But afterwards, everyone was coming up and hugging me and congratulating me and it basically didn't matter at all. In fact, my old bossidy-boss came up to me later to tell me how touched he was that I was so surprised and happy about the award.

My crying brought people together! Even so, I'm going to try not to do that again.

In the bastard plantar fasciitis news, it went away for about a week, then came back again, but I'm confident I can get it to go away again. It's so frustrating. But I've been taking short walks and basically giving it a giant middle finger, so that helps. In a related story, I bought another pair of shoes in an effort to fit my foot and my orthotic into a shoe at the same time. Upon wearing the shoe for one work day, I discovered it doesn't actually fit me. Fucking yeah!

I had a membership to Planet Fitness. A few weeks ago, Scott helped me face the reality that I never go. Not just seldom. Never. So he drove me over there and I cancelled my membership easy-peasy. It was nothing. But I wouldn't have gone over there without his urging. And because he was there, I didn't get caught up in feeling like a loser for quitting the gym. Honestly, I couldn't stand it in there. It was a lowest-common-denominator playground, as far as I could tell. When I was going regularly for a while there, there was a series of nutso people basically parading around me the whole time. This one insane mother in particular screaming at her son for about a thousand hours while I was just trying to exercise for about 30 minutes set me into a bit of, oh, I don't know. If it weren't so goddamned funny, I might have had the panic. When did mothers start screaming at their kids like dogs in public? My mother always had the courtesy to whisper-shout at us through gritted teeth. If you weren't right next to her feeling the anger radiate off her like thermo-nuclear waves and experiencing her death grip sear your arm fat while her growly whisper-shout singed the extra-fine cilia in your inner ear, you might not even know she was angry. (I'm not sure I've adequately thanked her for keeping the public mortification to a minimum.) In any case, the number of people working out in their pajamas was basically stunning. Also, teenagers getting their pose on in earnest. It was madness is all I'm saying.

You might be thinking, "Jennifer, the common denominator in all this is you." And indeed you may be right. But no self-respecting establishment purporting to be a health and fitness gymnasium should have a weekly all-you-can-eat pizza night. Just sayin'.

This morning, my mother called my very popular radio program to put on Grandpa No-legs's Bass Boat. It was sold within a very short time, which gratified me to no end. In any event, there was a glorious moment while we were on the air when I asked my mother what the boat was made of, aluminum or fiberglass. She approximately replied, "Whatever Bass Boats are made of." I approximately said, "They can be made of either." I only know this because of the show that I host. We talk about these things. She approximately said, "People who know Bass Boats know what they're made of," like she was some kind of person who knew Bass Boats, which she couldn't be because she didn't know what it was made of. I approximately said, "Yes, of course, ma, either aluminum or fiberglass." I added "approximately" in there because I didn't record it. I only wish I had so I could get those quotes exactly and so I could listen to it in perpetuity and laugh and laugh. We raised the curtain on our relationship to the listening public. When it was over, my bossman at the station popped into the studio and said, "You've gotta have your mother call in more often." I said, "I wasn't sure if that was funny to outside people or not." He said, "Oh, it was."

It is a radio program on public air waves, so my mother can certainly call in whenever she wishes to do so.

I think we're all caught up now.

Audition in review

Tonight I had an audition for a big comedy festival and now I remember very keenly why I stopped doing these kinds of things a number of years ago.

The person I auditioned for is also a scout for a network late-night television show. There were 14 of us auditioning tonight. Everyone totally rocked. I was so pleased with my performance. I felt strong and really there.

After the show was over, I went to gladhand the man I auditioned for. He told me that he thinks my comedy is too much here (pointing to head) and not enough here (pointing to stomach). Too much poise and not enough gut, he said. I need to bring more of myself to the stage. I'm funny, he said, and he thinks he'll be seeing more of me, just not right now.

I asked him if he had specific advice about what I can do to improve. He said I just have to keep working. And he kept saying that I have to bring more of myself to the stage.

I am open to constructive criticism. I really and truly am. But I wasn't prepared to be told that I wasn't bringing myself to the stage because I feel that I am all I bring to the stage. In fact, I was once challenged by someone to bring less of myself to the stage and to be funny without being personal and I couldn't. I don't know how to do that. Whatever.

So afterwards, everyone went down to the second floor to chat and hang around, but I found I was unable to stay. I tried, but I ended up crying in front of a couple people, which was embarrassing since everyone else seemed like they were totally fine.

I pulled myself together and went to talk to Rick, told him what I had been told, etc., and he said, "I love you. You're great. I believe in you." So I had to cry and rush out. Which was lame, but I really preferred to cry in the relative privacy of my car and not in a bar where there was karaoke and general barroom insanity.

So I did. And then we hit the road.

Of course, now it's a few hours later and I've got a little distance and I know that one guy doesn't get to decide that I don't bring myself to the stage. I think he's full of it. And I have to remember how happy I was with my set after it was over. I realy felt good about it. Also I'm happy I have some shows coming up so that I don't have an opportunity to feel mopey and sad about it. I just have to get back on the horse.

And I also think I have to do more of these types of auditions so that the rejection doesn't feel so personal. I don't know how to make it feel less personal since I lay my personal life right out there on the stage. I guess I'm just going to have to learn.

Cycle of poverty

My pal Josh Shear has a great post today about poverty.

In my previous job at a hunger-relief agency, we talked regularly about the cycle of poverty. I remember taking a group of potential donors on a tour of the facility and talking about hunger and poverty. This one lady started yammering on about how when she was a younger mother, she made all their food from scratch and went on and on about why can't the people who are hungry make their food from scratch too.

I waited until she was done.

I asked her if she worked when her kids were young. No.

But someone in the house worked? Yes, my husband.

Oh. Hm. I see. And you had money to buy groceries? Yes.

And you had a kitchen with working appliances? Yes.

Did you have pots and pans to cook with? Yes.

What about cooking utensils? Yes.

And did you know how to cook food? Yes.

Pretty soon, she had a different outlook on the situation.

I think that's part of the problem among people who are doing okay. They think, "Well if I can, so can they." One thing that people fail to notice sometimes is that they are just a couple paychecks away from the soup line themselves. It's just a matter of circumstance.

When I was interviewing for the job at the hunger-relief agency, they asked me what the root causes of hunger are. That's a heavy one to spring on a person, and certainly one I didn't have a definitive answer for and still don't. But what I ended up talking about is how I happened to learn how to properly shake hands, a necessary skill if you're trying to get a job, for example. I learned how to speak appropriately to other people, including bosses and peers. I can't exactly say how I learned these things, but I did and they've come in handy.

I was coaching someone before an interview a number of years ago. I started asking the tough questions you dread, but have to be prepared for, for example, "What are your strengths and weaknesses?" The person had not really been employed many places outside food service at the time, and said, "They're not going to ask that."

I said, "Yes, they are."

The person said, "No they aren't."

Pretty soon, the person was storming out of my apartment and days later called to tell me that they had, indeed, asked the question. The person told the interviewer that s/he didn't have any weaknesses.

S/he didn't get the job.

Education counts for a lot, sure, but so much of being successful in America is about these "soft skills" that are hard to quantify. Knowing how to speak in sentences, answer questions, finesse situations, shake hands, etc., makes the difference between working in an office for a decent salary and working at Burger King for minimum wage.

There isn't one answer that will solve the poverty problem in this country. Government programs help - if they're accessible to people and if the people are willing to use the services. Sometimes the fear of stigma is enough to keep a person away from services. No one wants to eat a meal that came out of a silver can that says, "USDA Pork" on the side of it. No one wants their friends to see that can in their cabinet.

It's tricky, poverty is, but we can make a difference. We just have to start.

Over-sharing

Here's an interesting article from the NYTimes Magazine about a lady who over-shared on the Internet. It's fairly long, but worth the read. The end of the story is a little anti-climactic, but I think it only seems that way because the rest of the story is so...oh, I don't know. Something.

I used to do a lot of over-sharing on the Internet. Now I just share, I think. I try to keep what I say to my own business and I try not to include anything that is other people's businesses. Of course, it's hard to tell a compelling story without mentioning other people. But you know.

I did some serious over-sharing on a stage last weekend wherein I discussed my asshole, Scott's asshole and the economy, and, well, it was really quite something. I've got a lot of great new material that I think you're sure to love. That is, if you love my asshole.

Actually, people gasped in horror and stifled laughter, perhaps to avoid looking like they were laughing at my asshole. Of course, from my vantage point on the stage, it just seemed like stunned silence. In fact, if people didn't come up to me later and tell me how much they enjoyed the show and how funny they thought I was, I wouldn't even know.

Of course, I got plenty of out-loud laughter for things that weren't quite so controversial. Like the economy. I have to say, this economy joke, which I will not tell you here, is about the best joke I've written (with Scott's help) in some time. It kills me that I will only be able to use it for a little while.

Oh, the humanity!

Anyway, I'm opening for the Gay Men's Chorus on June 7 at PACE, though I think I'll keep the subject matter a little tamer for that crowd. Also, I'll update my shows list so you can actually come to one, maybe.