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What: David Sedaris at the Capitol Theatre
When: October 24, 2006 at 7:00
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I have purchased two tickets to see David Sedaris---one for me and one for Mystery Date. If you are interested in the position of Mystery Date, please fill out the application below and either post it in the comments section for everyone to laugh at you or email me at stet.me@gmail.com so that I can laugh at you privately.* Women are free to apply but men will be given preferential treatment.
*I am not actually interested in finding a stranger to take on this date. Mostly this is just to be funny. If you know me, feel free to apply and I may choose you. If you know someone who knows me, feel free to apply and fill out the "references" section. If you don't know anyone who knows me, forget it. You have no chance. Buy your own freaking ticket.
Although this application is specifically for seeing David Sedaris on October 24, if you would like to go on a date with Cicada on another day, feel free to compose an essay explaining why you would be a good date for Cicada.
APPLICATION TO GO ON A DATE WITH CICADA
(to see David Sedaris on October 24)
Are you homophobic? (If yes, you need not continue.)
Will you be put off by potential use of the f-word in the reading/performance? (I will not be using the f-word at all during the date.)
The tickets were not inexpensive. What are you willing to do to show appreciation? (Check all that apply.)
0......arrive on time
0......bring flowers
0......dress nicely
0......compliment you (Cicada) on how nice you look
0......treat you (Cicada) to homemade dinner
0......treat you (Cicada) to restaurant dinner
0......take you (Cicada) on a future date
0......make out at the end of the evening
I don't want to waste this ticket on someone who isn't familiar with David Sedaris's works and isn't incredibly excited to see him live. Please write a brief essay on which is your favorite David Sedaris piece. If you are not familiar with David Sedaris but feel that for some other reason you should qualify for this date, write a brief essay detailing your reasoning.
Shamelessly suck up to me right here:
Thank you! I will be announcing the winner as soon as I find one. To all my friends who actually love me, please refer a friend.
The Jack Bauer Conspiracy
Recently, Ambrosia posted about government and torture and I congratulated her for being more up on current events than I am. I have heard news about our government and torture, though, and I've come to an astounding discovery.Last night I put in an episode of 24 because I miss my boyfriend Jack Bauer (I tried to reconnect with him in The Sentinel but it just didn't do it for me). And during this episode, I watched as a suspect was interrogated by someone who was not Jack Bauer. The interrogator couldn't get anything out of the suspect. But Jack, believing that the suspect had very time-sensitive information, broke into the interrogation room, pulled out his gun, and started yelling at the suspect. The suspect didn't give up any information, so Jack blasted a cap into the guy's leg. As the guy was screaming and as Jack was sticking his gun into the wound to make it hurt more, the suspect gave the information that Jack was looking for. It turns out that Jack and the good guys were seconds too late to stop the bad plan from happening but gosh darn it, Jack got the information.
I'd love to see the stats on how many guys Jack Bauer tortures on average per 24 hours. Let's not forget that episode where Jack gets a guy out of prison, shoots him dead, and cuts off his head so that he can take it to go undercover and prove to some bad guys that he's a bad guy, too. And we ("we" as in 24 fans) watch this stuff and we love Jack (and if we're anything like me, we love Jack and want to have his killer babies). We love him as he breaks all the rules. We love him as he goes against government protocol because Jack makes things happen. I've heard it said that if everyone just did what Jack Bauer told them to do, the show would be called 12.
Allow me to quote a little from Wikipedia:
So the question: Is 24 actually a government plot to get people to support the government's right to do whatever it takes to get the job done? We love and praise Jack Bauer for what he does, and whatever measures he takes during torture, they always yield accurate results. We never see the victim of torture confess something that is not true just to escape the torture. We just see Jack Bauer doing what he does and getting results.
Bauer's behavior and actions are consistent with the philosophy "the ends justify the means". When innocent lives are in danger he behaves as though obtaining a desired result is more important than how he obtains it, and he frequently performs controversial actions if he thinks they will achieve an important goal. His philosophy was perhaps best expressed after he shot and killed a witness in front of George Mason, then-CTU Special Agent in Charge. George expressed dismay at Jack's extreme action, and Jack replied: "That's the problem with people like you, George. You want results, but you never want to get your hands dirty." Lying, torture, stealing, and even cold-blooded murder are all viable options to Jack, a stark contrast to the vast majority of fictional heroes. Comparisons with the very people he battles are inevitable. As stated by George Mason in Day 1, "Rules don't apply to Jack Bauer. He does what he wants, when he wants, and he doesn't care whose life it affects."
Flying High
I work a few miles from the airport, so I see planes coming in for landing all day as I gaze out my window (did I mention my office has a window?). They're close enough for me to determine what company they are---Southwest is the most recognizable to me because that's who I always fly with. And the more planes I see, the more I get excited for next week when I pick Switchback up from the airport.
But all this plane watching reminds me of a simpler life that I once lived. I grew up in Timmins, Ontario where we had a two-terminal airport. One room was Terminal One and the other room was Terminal Two. People left from Terminal One and came in at Terminal Two. It's a small enough city and a small enough airport that air traffic was rather limited.
We also happened to live on a hill in those days, just a few miles from the airport (almost anywhere in the city was "just a few miles from the airport"). So when we were waiting for someone to fly in, instead of keeping up on whether flights were on time, and what new time they were supposed to arrive (do flights ever come in on time), we'd just keep a watch out the window. When we saw a plane coming in to land, we'd pile into the car and drive to the airport to pick up the arriver.
I think that I can get back in touch with that simple life from my office here. I think I may just find out who Switchback is flying with and keep an eye out for the plane while I'm at work. When I see it coming in to land, then I can hop in the car and rush to the airport.
But all this plane watching reminds me of a simpler life that I once lived. I grew up in Timmins, Ontario where we had a two-terminal airport. One room was Terminal One and the other room was Terminal Two. People left from Terminal One and came in at Terminal Two. It's a small enough city and a small enough airport that air traffic was rather limited.
We also happened to live on a hill in those days, just a few miles from the airport (almost anywhere in the city was "just a few miles from the airport"). So when we were waiting for someone to fly in, instead of keeping up on whether flights were on time, and what new time they were supposed to arrive (do flights ever come in on time), we'd just keep a watch out the window. When we saw a plane coming in to land, we'd pile into the car and drive to the airport to pick up the arriver.
I think that I can get back in touch with that simple life from my office here. I think I may just find out who Switchback is flying with and keep an eye out for the plane while I'm at work. When I see it coming in to land, then I can hop in the car and rush to the airport.
Truly Grotesque
Most of the time, I know where my dreams come from. The other day, I was planning on what I would wear to work as I fell asleep and that night, I was at work in my dream and looked down at what I was wearing and realized that it wasn't what I had planned. That's when I woke up and found out that I had slept through my alarm and should have been at work at that very moment.
But I don't know where last night's dream came from and because the images are still in my head, I must share them with you.
I dreamt that there was a group of anorexic women who were suffering from a disease that ate away the outside of their bodies, too. So in addition to being rake-thin, these women's bones, sinews, and muslces were exposed. It was all a pus-yellow color. They looked like the undead.
I was in a class that studied these women and particularly the unfair treatment they received in society. The one case study that I can remember was one girl who went to try on a prom dress at Bucovetsky's (a department store back home). While trying on a dress, she projectile vomited a lot of blood. It covered the dress she was trying on and the floor. The store manager told her that she didn't have to pay for the damage, but later in the day, called her to tell her that he changed his mind and she would have to pay for the dress that she ruined. This was supposed to prove that these women were treated differently in society.
So, so strange. I only wish I could get ride of the image of this undead, rake-thin, pus-yellow woman spewing blood in a prom dress.
But I don't know where last night's dream came from and because the images are still in my head, I must share them with you.
I dreamt that there was a group of anorexic women who were suffering from a disease that ate away the outside of their bodies, too. So in addition to being rake-thin, these women's bones, sinews, and muslces were exposed. It was all a pus-yellow color. They looked like the undead.
I was in a class that studied these women and particularly the unfair treatment they received in society. The one case study that I can remember was one girl who went to try on a prom dress at Bucovetsky's (a department store back home). While trying on a dress, she projectile vomited a lot of blood. It covered the dress she was trying on and the floor. The store manager told her that she didn't have to pay for the damage, but later in the day, called her to tell her that he changed his mind and she would have to pay for the dress that she ruined. This was supposed to prove that these women were treated differently in society.
So, so strange. I only wish I could get ride of the image of this undead, rake-thin, pus-yellow woman spewing blood in a prom dress.
Rhonda's School of Dance
One of the best pranks I've pulled in my life was Rhonda's School of Dance. It was a couple years ago when I was working in "the closet" (a long, narrow room at work with no windows) with Ambrosia and Logan. Every day, a guy named Jimbo would pass our closet and say hello. He was the gregarious sort, and he worked in data entry in a closet a few doors down. Our editing department had absolutely nothing to do with data entry, so we didn't really know Jimbo and his coworkers but one day we decided to form a "closet alliance" between our closet and theirs. We met all of them and started sending emails back and forth a little introducing ourselves. We even brought them stale, 90%-off treats from a nearby BYU Creamery.
One day, I realized that I could get access to their data entry telephone number and we could actually call them. So at about 10:00 one morning, Logan called from his cell phone.
Data entry: Hello, this is Jimbo at Independent Study. How can I help you?
Logan: Yeah, I'm calling about the Rhonda's School of Dance radio contest? The answer is plie. Am I the seventh caller?
Data entry: I'm sorry... this isn't a radio station, this is Independent Study. I'm afraid you've got the wrong number.
Logan: Oh geez. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
He got off the phone and I immediately called from my phone.
Data Entry: Hi, this is Jen at Independent Study. How can I help you?
Cicada (in a hyper, high-strung voice): Yes, hello! The answer is plie! Am I the seventh caller?
Data Entry: I'm sorry... this is Independent Study. You have the wrong number.
Cicada: But---but---but, this is the number they gave out on the radio! [I repeated the phone number.]
Data Entry: Right, that's our phone number, but the phone number is for Independent Study, not a radio station.
Cicada: But they gave this number out on the station!
Data Entry: I'm sorry.
Cicada: So does this mean I don't win?
Later that day, Jimbo swung by our closet. He said, "Hey... you guys... have you been receiving, like, weird phone calls today?"
We said we hadn't, and he explained.
"Apparently some radio call-in show gave out OUR number by accident, so people have been calling in for some dance studio thing. And this one girl---we thought she was going to cry. She just kept on repeating over and over again, 'But this is the number they said on the radio!'"
Of course, we were all laughing uncontrollably, but Jimbo thought that it was just his impression of the pathetic girl who was calling in.
At 10:00 a.m. for the next few days, we'd call in our answers to Rhonda's School of Dance. When we realized that we also had access to their printer through the network and started printing logos and pictures of ballerinas and stuff, they finally got wise and figured out that it was their new, intelligent editor friends.
One day, I realized that I could get access to their data entry telephone number and we could actually call them. So at about 10:00 one morning, Logan called from his cell phone.
Data entry: Hello, this is Jimbo at Independent Study. How can I help you?
Logan: Yeah, I'm calling about the Rhonda's School of Dance radio contest? The answer is plie. Am I the seventh caller?
Data entry: I'm sorry... this isn't a radio station, this is Independent Study. I'm afraid you've got the wrong number.
Logan: Oh geez. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
He got off the phone and I immediately called from my phone.
Data Entry: Hi, this is Jen at Independent Study. How can I help you?
Cicada (in a hyper, high-strung voice): Yes, hello! The answer is plie! Am I the seventh caller?
Data Entry: I'm sorry... this is Independent Study. You have the wrong number.
Cicada: But---but---but, this is the number they gave out on the radio! [I repeated the phone number.]
Data Entry: Right, that's our phone number, but the phone number is for Independent Study, not a radio station.
Cicada: But they gave this number out on the station!
Data Entry: I'm sorry.
Cicada: So does this mean I don't win?
Later that day, Jimbo swung by our closet. He said, "Hey... you guys... have you been receiving, like, weird phone calls today?"
We said we hadn't, and he explained.
"Apparently some radio call-in show gave out OUR number by accident, so people have been calling in for some dance studio thing. And this one girl---we thought she was going to cry. She just kept on repeating over and over again, 'But this is the number they said on the radio!'"
Of course, we were all laughing uncontrollably, but Jimbo thought that it was just his impression of the pathetic girl who was calling in.
At 10:00 a.m. for the next few days, we'd call in our answers to Rhonda's School of Dance. When we realized that we also had access to their printer through the network and started printing logos and pictures of ballerinas and stuff, they finally got wise and figured out that it was their new, intelligent editor friends.
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