Friday, August 30, 2013

Can somebody please hit the gong?

So I realize that I promised to be a little lighter with the blog and then I go and publish a tribute to recently passed Seamus Heaney with reference to my relationship with my deceased Dad, so yeah, missed the mark with that one.  But my past week was such a gong show, an unembellished description of events ought to do the trick.  Before I get into the events of the week, I think it’s a shame that the younger generations never got to experience the complete sh*tshow that was The Gong Show, which gave rise to the current word defined by urban dictionary as: “an event marred by confusion, ineptitude and shenanigans.”  Here’s  a great link to an explanation of the madness that includes some quality clips (although I am sad that the only actual gong is in the last clip, gonging Chuck Barris ).  I know coke was an 80’s thing, but I think those guys were precocious.  Also, since my Ropes days, I have always had a Vietnamese gong in my office so that I can hit it when enough is enough.  It doesn’t have the desired effect of stopping the show as the original did, but at least the dulcet tones are temporarily calming.

Anyway, you already read my Tuesday rant on the DMV, which my friend amusingly described as “the bar from Star Wars, without the really good band.”  I decided to work off Tuesday’s inactivity and frustration with a long hike with the pups on Wednesday morning.   We were all alone on the trail on a beautiful day, and, as I am wont to do, was listening to my iPod perhaps a bit too loudly and forgetting that we were not in my kitchen, where I routinely sing and dance like no one is watching (but it does make the dogs bark and jump, which I think is fun, but may be mortification).  I was horrified when we were overtaken by an older couple (they were hauling *ss, by the way) while I was singing, not humming or softly self-singing, like really out loud singing with my terrible tone deaf voice and “walk-dancing” to Rihanna’s “We Found Love.”  And it is not like I love that song soooo much that I just can’t hold back, had they come by one minute sooner, I would have been belting out Kelly Clarkson’s “Stronger” complete with emphatic fist pump (it was an older playlist).  It was embarrassing, but they politely ignored me – not even the customary trail head-nod, and went on their way. 

But the truly mortifying reality to emerge from the event is that I can no longer deny my truth and I must come out of the closet: I am a prancerciser.   I don’t have the flare of Joanna Rorhback, but I have been “walk-dancing” the dogs for as long as I can remember.  She is trying to parlay her internet fame into some sort of a campy moneymaker, although so far only nine people have signed up.  I am thinking if I hold a similar seminar in Boston and I update the music and routines and throw in lessons on how to sing terribly, maybe I can get at least 10 people?  Perhaps I’ll add a foam fingered accessorized exercise to Blurred Lines (oh, check out this clever response to the Miley Cyrus  hysteria).   At $25 a pop, less taxes and space rental fees, that’s at least -$300.   So there you have it.  I am the best Nicole that I can be - and I prancersise.  If you can’t accept that, we can’t be friends.  Anyway, I was so afraid I would see the older couple again on the way back that I took a “shortcut” that turned our 4 mile hike into a 7 mile hike. 

On to Thursday.  I headed into Downtown Boston to do a bunch of non-shopping annoying DMV-like errands. I was around the City Hall area and decided to treat myself to lunch in the North End at the original Pizzeria Regina.  Although it is the original version of those in the mall, it bears no resemblance to its progeny.  The pizza is AWESOME and very much worth the 15 minute walk from where I was, despite passing perhaps 20 other quality eating establishments.  I was set on a slice of pepperoni, but once there, got talked into the special of the day, a meatball pomodoro.  I had decided to eat it along the Rose Kennedy Greenway  that hugs the entrance to the North End, replete with scenery and fun water features.  I trotted out, pizza in one of those cute triangle boxes, eager to get to my spot.  And then…I realized that I something was wrong.  I had my wallet (sans proper ID, which was one of my errands), which I used to pay for the pizza, my phone, which I never put down, and the pizza in my hand, but NO BAG.  The bag I carried into Pizzeria Regina with contained my passport, iPad, kindle, tax records for the past 2 years and my temporary paper ID until my real one comes in the mail.  It would turn a common thief into an identity thief because of the ease.   I ran faster, and far more frantically, than Anthony on Wednesday night.  Luckily, it was safely behind the bar, turned in by a good Samaritan.  The only tragedy was that in the madness of the run, the pizza went flying out of the box.

I was too embarrassed to rebuy the pizza given the hysteria, so I went to my #2, a great sub shop on the outskirts of the North End.  I took my sub and was just so relieved to still have my identity, as it was, and not having to replace important identification forms for the second time in two months (yes, I am a total spaz).  So I was about to get on the T to get home and was reaching into my wallet to get my T card when I realized that I still had a $20 bill in there (I had a $20 and 3 $1 bills when I started this venture).  The sub was $5.75, so there is no way I could have paid for the sub and still have $20.  I was horrified.  In my mania, I had walked out without paying for the sub.  I had to walk back, again, to pay for my unintended thievery.  It was a delicate conversation with the cashier to convince her that I had not in fact paid, without making her feel terrible that she hadn’t noticed.  But in the end, she thanked me for coming back and took the money.   Total fail again.


I stayed home today and managed not to commit a life failure, so I am 1-for-1.  Here’s to tomorrow being 2-for-2.

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