Hello everyone!
I know it's been since December that I posted, but I am now re-located in Portland and I will be keeping up with my blog on a hopefully daily basis. I might not have anything to write about, but I'll come up with something. If anyone is even still looking at this blog - thank you!
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
The Funniest Story I have Ever Read - Part 2
(cont'd)
Madame DuLak had studied in Paris. She said so often. She had picked up a lot of fancy notions in gay old Paris, I gathered, not only about Joyce Kilmer but also about "recitations" and "elocution lessons."
"We are going," Madame DuLak intoned, in a rich, deep voice full of culture, that first morning our little class of six assembled, "to undertake the study of a litt-tul play which I rather " (she said "rawther" of course) "like. I shall assign and read the parts this morning. By next week you will have memorized your lines and then we shall settle down for a winter's work."
I memorized my lines easily. My part consisted of the word "hunger." But do not imagine that I was a mere walk-on in this little play of Madame DuLak's. On the contrary, I was one of the leading characters. I was, in spite my rotund figure, a hungry old beggar. I sat on the steps of what was supposed to be a cathedral. From the time the curtain went up until at last it went down, I sat on those steps, chanting the word "hunger" more or less at one-minute intervals. Sometimes I said it very loudly, drowning out the rest of the cast, and sometimes I was supposed to whisper it very softly, as background. It was a Greek-chorus idea.
The play was exceedingly symbolical. I was not supposed to be physically hungry, which was a good thing, considering my appearance; I was just supposed to be spiritually hungry. Madame DuLak used to urge me to put this difference into the reading of my lines, or, rather, line. I was a big girl for my eleven years, and I was often hungry in the good old-fashioned sense of wanting another piece of chocolate cake or second helping of chocolate pie. So when Madame DuLak would urge me on Saturday mornings to "Put some feeling into your part, Ruth," I would concentrate hard on something chocolate and howl, "Hun-gah!" with a fine frenzied note in my voice. Madame DuLak thought I was pretty good, on the whole. Of course sometimes I forgot and said "Hunger," and then Madame DuLak used to denounce me as a boor.
(Part 3 coming soon!)
Madame DuLak had studied in Paris. She said so often. She had picked up a lot of fancy notions in gay old Paris, I gathered, not only about Joyce Kilmer but also about "recitations" and "elocution lessons."
"We are going," Madame DuLak intoned, in a rich, deep voice full of culture, that first morning our little class of six assembled, "to undertake the study of a litt-tul play which I rather " (she said "rawther" of course) "like. I shall assign and read the parts this morning. By next week you will have memorized your lines and then we shall settle down for a winter's work."
I memorized my lines easily. My part consisted of the word "hunger." But do not imagine that I was a mere walk-on in this little play of Madame DuLak's. On the contrary, I was one of the leading characters. I was, in spite my rotund figure, a hungry old beggar. I sat on the steps of what was supposed to be a cathedral. From the time the curtain went up until at last it went down, I sat on those steps, chanting the word "hunger" more or less at one-minute intervals. Sometimes I said it very loudly, drowning out the rest of the cast, and sometimes I was supposed to whisper it very softly, as background. It was a Greek-chorus idea.
The play was exceedingly symbolical. I was not supposed to be physically hungry, which was a good thing, considering my appearance; I was just supposed to be spiritually hungry. Madame DuLak used to urge me to put this difference into the reading of my lines, or, rather, line. I was a big girl for my eleven years, and I was often hungry in the good old-fashioned sense of wanting another piece of chocolate cake or second helping of chocolate pie. So when Madame DuLak would urge me on Saturday mornings to "Put some feeling into your part, Ruth," I would concentrate hard on something chocolate and howl, "Hun-gah!" with a fine frenzied note in my voice. Madame DuLak thought I was pretty good, on the whole. Of course sometimes I forgot and said "Hunger," and then Madame DuLak used to denounce me as a boor.
(Part 3 coming soon!)
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
The Funniest Story I have Ever Read - Part 1
An Excerpt from the book, "My Sister Eileen" by Ruth McKenney (a collection of short stories about the author and her sister Eileen) Published in 1938
"Hun-gah"
When my sister and I were ten and eleven, our six aunts on the lace-curtain-Irish, or Farrel, side of the family got up a little fund to make their nieces cultured.
In their dreams, they could see, these amiable ladies who loved us so dearly, Eileen at the piano bringing tears to the eyes of her relatives with a splendid performance of "Narcissus," the selection where you cross your hands on the keyboard. They could see me, too, in their affectionate musings, spreading a fluffy organdie skirt for a polite curtsy to a parlor full of admiring Farrels and Murphys and Flannigans, and then launching into a moving recitation of "Trees."
After all, our second cousins, the Murphy children, aged only eleven and twelve, could already recite "Trees" and play "The Rose of No Man's Land," not to speak of "Humoresque," on the piano. If the Murphys could be cultured, so, my aunts said grimly, could the McKenneys. If they had secret misgivings, they never said so. They started off the big culture program by getting Eileen a music teacher, a nervous, angular lady who wore her eyeglasses on a black ribbon and sniffed.
"One," she used to say, "two,three," and then a long sniffle, "four. One, two," then another short, ladylike sniffle, "three, four."
The sniffles and the black ribbon for the eyeglasses fascinated my sister. She used to keep time to the sniffles instead of counting, and as a result her scales went from bad to worse. Eventually, though, she learned to read simple sheet music. She also learned a bass which consisted mostly of fearful thumping and a rolling sound like kettledrums, all in the lowest octave of the keyboard. With this equipment, whe was able to play "Chloe," a popular song of the early nineteen-twenties. She was never able to play anything except "Chloe," but she certainly could play that.
She used to stalk to the piano and seat herself firmly, with quite a thump, at the bench. Then, swaying largely from the waist, she picked up the melody, not without some difficulty. Finally, when the preliminaries were over, she burst into song, accompanying herself as she went along.
"Thr---ooo the bu-la-ck of NIGHT," Eileen used to intone in a deep bass growl, "I got-tuh go wheah yew are."
The climax of the song, where the melody goes up, always used to baffle my sister, who, like myself, is absolutely tone-deaf and has never been able to carry a tune, even the simplest one, in her whole life. She solved the difficulty by simply pounding so hard in the bass that she drowned herself out. Her voice emerged triumphantly just at the end: "I GOT-TUH go wheah YEW are."
While Eileen was learning to play a bayou chant, I, too, was busy with culture. I was taking what my aunts thought were elocution lessons. These thoughtful ladies, after a solemn family conclave, had decided I should study public speaking because I stuttered over the telephone. I still do. It is very humiliating.
How my conservative, respectable aunts fell afoul of Madame DuLak and her Studio of the Voice I cannot imagine. Certainly she was not the teacher they thought she was. The hoped I would learn how to recite "Trees." Madame DuLak told me the first time I met her that Joyce Kilmer "stank." That was the word she used. I was eleven years old, and I certainly was suprised to hear that about Joyce Kilmer.
(Tune in tomorrow for Part 2...)
"Hun-gah"
When my sister and I were ten and eleven, our six aunts on the lace-curtain-Irish, or Farrel, side of the family got up a little fund to make their nieces cultured.
In their dreams, they could see, these amiable ladies who loved us so dearly, Eileen at the piano bringing tears to the eyes of her relatives with a splendid performance of "Narcissus," the selection where you cross your hands on the keyboard. They could see me, too, in their affectionate musings, spreading a fluffy organdie skirt for a polite curtsy to a parlor full of admiring Farrels and Murphys and Flannigans, and then launching into a moving recitation of "Trees."
After all, our second cousins, the Murphy children, aged only eleven and twelve, could already recite "Trees" and play "The Rose of No Man's Land," not to speak of "Humoresque," on the piano. If the Murphys could be cultured, so, my aunts said grimly, could the McKenneys. If they had secret misgivings, they never said so. They started off the big culture program by getting Eileen a music teacher, a nervous, angular lady who wore her eyeglasses on a black ribbon and sniffed.
"One," she used to say, "two,three," and then a long sniffle, "four. One, two," then another short, ladylike sniffle, "three, four."
The sniffles and the black ribbon for the eyeglasses fascinated my sister. She used to keep time to the sniffles instead of counting, and as a result her scales went from bad to worse. Eventually, though, she learned to read simple sheet music. She also learned a bass which consisted mostly of fearful thumping and a rolling sound like kettledrums, all in the lowest octave of the keyboard. With this equipment, whe was able to play "Chloe," a popular song of the early nineteen-twenties. She was never able to play anything except "Chloe," but she certainly could play that.
She used to stalk to the piano and seat herself firmly, with quite a thump, at the bench. Then, swaying largely from the waist, she picked up the melody, not without some difficulty. Finally, when the preliminaries were over, she burst into song, accompanying herself as she went along.
"Thr---ooo the bu-la-ck of NIGHT," Eileen used to intone in a deep bass growl, "I got-tuh go wheah yew are."
The climax of the song, where the melody goes up, always used to baffle my sister, who, like myself, is absolutely tone-deaf and has never been able to carry a tune, even the simplest one, in her whole life. She solved the difficulty by simply pounding so hard in the bass that she drowned herself out. Her voice emerged triumphantly just at the end: "I GOT-TUH go wheah YEW are."
While Eileen was learning to play a bayou chant, I, too, was busy with culture. I was taking what my aunts thought were elocution lessons. These thoughtful ladies, after a solemn family conclave, had decided I should study public speaking because I stuttered over the telephone. I still do. It is very humiliating.
How my conservative, respectable aunts fell afoul of Madame DuLak and her Studio of the Voice I cannot imagine. Certainly she was not the teacher they thought she was. The hoped I would learn how to recite "Trees." Madame DuLak told me the first time I met her that Joyce Kilmer "stank." That was the word she used. I was eleven years old, and I certainly was suprised to hear that about Joyce Kilmer.
(Tune in tomorrow for Part 2...)
My New Living Room
So I've been watching HGTV like an absolute addict...and in the midst of all that television, I decided my living room had no "focal point." Also, I had a chair that had been pretty much abandoned on the outskirts of the space and wasn't being used at all. The chair happened to be The Chair, previously of my previous apartment. It was the Only Chair and was offered to guests when they came to visit. How terrible for this once great and revered chair to be cast off, left alone! I remedied the situation by changing the layout of the room and thereby maximizing the potential of the space! If this isn't enough, I've also included pictures. Behold! The Blue Couch!
Monday, December 3, 2007
By Jill Scott, Musician
Embrace this right now life while it's dripping, while the flavors are excellently woesome. Take your bites with bravery and boldness since the learning and the growing are here in these times, these exact right times. Hold and kiss them because it will soon be very different.
This looks good!
http://www.apple.com/trailers/fox/27dresses/
Okay, the link doesn't work. But just copy and paste it into your title bar thing in your browser...and hit enter. Voila!
Okay, the link doesn't work. But just copy and paste it into your title bar thing in your browser...and hit enter. Voila!
The $330,000 Fungus
A tidbit of info I found incredible:
A man by the name of Stanley Ho (how terrible, right?) won an auction bid for a 3.3 pound truffle...paying $330,000- which beat the previous record for a truffle at $212,000.
So let's break it down - that's 110, 000 per pound. That better be some good truffle. Hmmmm, only time I've had truffle was in macaroni and cheese. That's how I do gourmet, baby!
A man by the name of Stanley Ho (how terrible, right?) won an auction bid for a 3.3 pound truffle...paying $330,000- which beat the previous record for a truffle at $212,000.
So let's break it down - that's 110, 000 per pound. That better be some good truffle. Hmmmm, only time I've had truffle was in macaroni and cheese. That's how I do gourmet, baby!
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