Performing, writing, driving more trolleys.
Life is busy but doesn't pay well. The play "God" that I'm in is fun and is going well. The new improv show that we're working on at CIC (www.cicomedy.com) is going to go back into rehearsals after a couple weeks off. I've got a stand up show coming up on Sunday and I'm not prepared nor do I feel that I'll have time to get prepared. I'm back in my Annoyance Theater classes. I also really want to work on brushing up some scripts that I've had on the back burner for a while. Oh, and, of course I have a job.
I ended up cancelling a hosting gig the other night because it was just one more thing without any real reward for doing it. Oh and it was for a guy with a public access show and an idea that he's being revolutionary. That combo kind of turns me off.
So I'm busy. But none of the busy stuff pays.
Someone recently said, "You're kind of slacking on your blog." Well I'm back. I promise to have at least one new blog every other day from here on out.
So here's the most recent trolley story:
I'm driving a trolley for a show at the merchandise mart (you know, the same gig where I saved the world from a drunk driver in a previous blog). It was late in the morning toward the end of the show that I was driving for so there was only one lady on the trolley. Very shortly after the greetings as she got on the trolley, she immediately went into conversation mode. It was an awkward transition.
"Good Morning."
"Good Morning. Welcome aboard. Looks like it's just us."
"That's okay. I've got my own personal trolley."
(We share a fake laugh. Fake sigh. Then, the awkward transition.)
"So...what do you think... of that lady... she's in Florida...and they're trying to decide whether to put her feeding tube back in...?"
Oh, Terry Schiavo. Mystery sentence deciphered. But I still wasn't sure what she was really asking. I wanted to answer, "I don't know. She seems kind of boring. And high maintenance."
But then I realized that she wanted my opinion. She wanted me to tell her whether Terry Schiavo should live or die. Me. The trolley driver. I'm not sure if she realizes this but trolley driver is not an elected position and therefore, I'm not really looked to by many people for my moral judgments.
Also, I understand that you're not supposed to talk about politics or religion in polite company or on a trolley. This lady managed to cross two taboos off with one poorly planned question.
I felt really uncomfortable. I knew what I was thinking but what if I said the opposite of what she wanted me to say? Suddenly there's an argument and that's followed by a phone call to Chris Kennedy who runs the Merchandise Mart and suddenly I'm driving tours of a city where there are no Kennedys.
So I thought about the right thing to say.
"I don't know enough about it." (Even though it was the only thing on t.v. or radio.) "Some people think he tried to kill her. Some people think she did it to herself. I don't know."
Was that vague enough? I hope so. Trolley drivers can't have opinions. That's the rules.
I ended up cancelling a hosting gig the other night because it was just one more thing without any real reward for doing it. Oh and it was for a guy with a public access show and an idea that he's being revolutionary. That combo kind of turns me off.
So I'm busy. But none of the busy stuff pays.
Someone recently said, "You're kind of slacking on your blog." Well I'm back. I promise to have at least one new blog every other day from here on out.
So here's the most recent trolley story:
I'm driving a trolley for a show at the merchandise mart (you know, the same gig where I saved the world from a drunk driver in a previous blog). It was late in the morning toward the end of the show that I was driving for so there was only one lady on the trolley. Very shortly after the greetings as she got on the trolley, she immediately went into conversation mode. It was an awkward transition.
"Good Morning."
"Good Morning. Welcome aboard. Looks like it's just us."
"That's okay. I've got my own personal trolley."
(We share a fake laugh. Fake sigh. Then, the awkward transition.)
"So...what do you think... of that lady... she's in Florida...and they're trying to decide whether to put her feeding tube back in...?"
Oh, Terry Schiavo. Mystery sentence deciphered. But I still wasn't sure what she was really asking. I wanted to answer, "I don't know. She seems kind of boring. And high maintenance."
But then I realized that she wanted my opinion. She wanted me to tell her whether Terry Schiavo should live or die. Me. The trolley driver. I'm not sure if she realizes this but trolley driver is not an elected position and therefore, I'm not really looked to by many people for my moral judgments.
Also, I understand that you're not supposed to talk about politics or religion in polite company or on a trolley. This lady managed to cross two taboos off with one poorly planned question.
I felt really uncomfortable. I knew what I was thinking but what if I said the opposite of what she wanted me to say? Suddenly there's an argument and that's followed by a phone call to Chris Kennedy who runs the Merchandise Mart and suddenly I'm driving tours of a city where there are no Kennedys.
So I thought about the right thing to say.
"I don't know enough about it." (Even though it was the only thing on t.v. or radio.) "Some people think he tried to kill her. Some people think she did it to herself. I don't know."
Was that vague enough? I hope so. Trolley drivers can't have opinions. That's the rules.
posted by Churchill at 11:16 PM
2 Comments:
The worst thing about vegetables is eating around the chair.
Is that politically incorrect enough? Or just plain sick?
If I can keep my mouth shut while Karl Rove's personal assistant was touring my agency, you can on your job too.
I had to take pictures and not give my opinion. It was awful. There was this long silence while a bunch of us rode in a van from senior housing back to the office. I turned around to Susan Ralston and said, "So, what's the story on the Whitehouse pets?" as an icebreaker. She told me that people were often happier to see Barney than his owner. I personally would drop kick the dog across Penn. Ave. yelling, "ONE PRETZEL!! One lousy fucking pretzel and we could have had a ONE-TERMER!"
Or maybe I wouldn't. It's not the dog's fault over half the people in this country are morons.
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