Random Saturday anecdotes by the numbers

1. Isn’t this lovely?

Attribution: from Juniper Moon Farm‘s blog, Rhineback, NY.

I really miss fall up north.

2. Overheard at work:
“Horatio* is on the meat and cheese diet. It’s actually a no-carb diet. You eat just meat and cheese.”

I did not know what this was, but I wanted it. Meat. Cheese. Animal products, mmmm. Reminds me of when I worked as a light tech in a college theatre. We were doing some kind of sequiny variety show, and I ran one of the big, clanky follow spots up on the catwalk over the audience.  We had radio headsets so the stage manager could give us our cues; naturally, this encouraged a lot of whispered commentary or conversation during the shows. On opening night, the box office threw together a little table of hors d’ouevres for afterwards so the performers and audience could mingle and talk about how fabulous the show was; it was basically punch and juice and a meat-cheese-veggie-cracker tray with dip.
Halfway through the first number, our radios crackled and the stage manager whispered, “Esmeralda** [the show’s director] just came in and went out and the whole booth smells like meat and cheese now.”

This became a hilarious code game. From then on, whenever Esmeralda entered the control booth during a show, whoever was managing would whisper, “Meat. And. Cheese” over the headsets. This could be interpreted as a warning, as in “Meat. And. Cheese. Up the ladder” or as purely informational, letting us know that once again the box office had splurged for the big Cub Foods deli plate, or most commonly (big surprise) as just another sample of our senses of humor. Well, we did work in the scene shop, too; we probably inhaled a lot of paint fumes.***

*Not his real name.
**Not her real name.
***Waterbased. Heh.

3. With her head tucked underneath her arm
Daugher Number Three wrote about the Twin Cities book fair this week and gave me a blast to the past with mention of this song:

My mom used to sing this. She’d imitate the voice, which I thought was hysterical. I blame this and her for my (totally resulting) unhealthy obsession with Anne Boleyn, although luckily the song kickstarted it early enough for me to be Boleyned-out by the time Phillipa Gregory started getting published. (I still went to see The Other Boleyn Girl, though. Blech. Damn it, Mom!)

4. A propos of nothing
This morning my peppermint tea bag imploded when I poured hot water on it. How does this happen? Pressure? Crappy bag stitching? Angry mint leaves? Might as well have stuck to loose tea, damn it.


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