Last night marked the last session of my last summer class for this summer--y'know, during my sabbatical year that began in April. Right. (Though, to be fair, I didn't work in May or June. Although, to be fairer, I had terrible morning sickness during those same two months and spent everyday and midday and evening and night puking and staring wanly whilst on the couch.)
Anyway, last night's class was also the second performance of the little play that I finally actually truly completed for class purposes. The kids did a good job performing and the audience was appreciative and laughed.
And that's what this post is really about: in one of the scenes I included a little sequence that was punctuated with a line that I thought was maybe funny but wasn't convinced. And my students didn't think it was funny at all. Why? Well, I'll tell you: it featured a series of repeated lines finally interrupted with the phrase "Orange you glad I didn't say banana."
You all know this Knock Knock joke, of course. Y'know:
Knock knock.
Who's there?
Banana
Banana who?
Knock knock.
Who's there?
Banana
Banana who?
--repeat ad infinitum until--
Knock knock.
Who's there?
Orange
Orange who?
Orange you glad I didn't say banana?
Even though kids love this joke (we're talking younger than 5th grade, here), they still have difficulty with why it's funny on its own, let alone the slightly abstract thing I did with it. And here's why: comprehending that "orange" replaces "aren't you" as a little pun is tricky. Comprehending that the reason the person answering the door should be glad is tricky. Why? Because the joke teller is just really having a good time repeating banana over and over again and doesn't really care that there is a punchline.
So when my students were discussing this portion of the script, one of them said to another "Don't worry, I didn't get that joke until I was 8." And then he tried to explain the joke by explaining the orange/aren't you pun, which didn't help at all. Of course it didn't. Because any five-year-old telling any knock knock joke can tell you that the punchline does not matter. But repetition is hilarious! And incongruity! And derision!
(That's my college education in the three forms of comedy right there...I didn't actually know those words when I was five-years-old--but I laughed!)
And yes, punchlines do matter, der. And the "orange you glad" out of context worked during both performances--mystifying all seven of my actors, but making me very happy.
Fun Thing #1 (The Fun One)
Yellow Dog and I went to Lake Chelan this past weekend for a little cabin hang time with K. and E. It was lovely, despite the huge forest fire whose smoke wafted and wended our way. We spent two nights in a little cabin built in the 50's by E's stepfather's father. Rumor had it that there was a bat, but I only saw a mouse. We ate good things (bookended by scones and tacos) and splashed and swam around in the chilly but soft lake. I wore a very fetching ensemble of a tank top and underpants due to my unwillingness to purchase something that would work as a maternity swimsuit for one weekend of use. The underpants are part of my "I dare you to last through this pregnancy" plan. Maybe they'll work like a friendship bracelet: when they fall off, the baby will be born. (Everything is wrong with that last sentence and I apologize.)
It all amounted to: relaxing times with good friends always equals relaxing times with good friends. More, please.
Fun Thing #2 (Not Fun at All)
Yesterday I had to go to the endodontist to finish up my root canal. There I was, lightly numbed (for baby safety) with the kind doctor cleaning up the no-more-roots prior to placing the permanent filling and what did I go and do? That's right: faint. But just briefly. For much longer I was overheated and nauseated and dizzy. Endodontist and assistant were very nice and placed cool clothes on my head and brought in a fan and a knee pillow. Then they gave me apple juice and took my blood pressure four times. No more dental work for me until the pregnancy is over! They called up Yellow Dog and my naturopath...all while I tried not to freak out about what was going on in the amniotic world. After a bit of resting, I had an exciting wheelchair ride to street level and then Yellow Dog and I had a little visit with my extra nice ND/LM. I almost hugged her at the end of the visit I was so much happier (especially after a brief sob in the car before we got there). Then Yellow Dog took me home and took care of me for the rest of the afternoon.
It all amounted to: my husband is the nicest one and we got to sneak in an extra listen to the sweet babe instead of having to wait until my next check-up.
These two things back-to-back allowed me a little reflection time on how lovely all of our friends are (see also all those who helped yesterday's evening events happen without my being there) and how very lucky we are to have access to and be cared for by considerate and skilled medical professionals. I think a new apartment thank you party is in order for all.
So, Yellow Dog and I have been looking for a new place to live. Sort of. Like, where "looking" means occasionally dropping by craigslist and generally talking about what we want and the latest date we could possibly move, birthing-wise.
Some of the top things on our list:
But what we truly wanted was this:
We now have a new place to live. It has zero of the first three things, but the last thing in the most beautiful spades that ever existed. My heart is jumping up and down (which is a little uncomfortable, but exciting!) because not only will we have more space and a park as our front yard, but two good friends as our apartment neighbors.
And yes: we were told about the availability on Monday, visited the apartment last night and were given the "yea" this morning.
Who needs a dishwasher when there's a rooftop deck?
PS We know we are freaking lucky and are truly grateful. So grateful that we are hiring a moving company and therefore will not be asking any of our friends to lift anything up four flights of stairs.
Usually when I ride the bus I think it is just fine. No fuss, no muss...but last night I just learned so much. I think you will learn almost as much by me typing in the conversation I overheard (as verbatim as my memory):
As I got on the bus, White Guy with Awful Dreadlocks (WGAD) had just offered his cellphone to Regular Looking Black Woman (RLBW). I had a little think to myself about how trusting he was and how I might not ever do such a thing and therefore began to feel guilty about causing problems during emergencies.
RLBW: Oh, do people talk too long sometimes?
WGAD: Yeah, I've had that happen before.
RLBW: Well, I won't take too long. I really appreciate it.
She dials, then begins talking. Loudly.
RLBW: Hi! I'm on someone else's cellphone so I have to be fast. How do I sound?...So, did you see your cousin today?...Was it your first cousin or your second cousin?...There's a difference. Your first cousin, see, is like your regular cousin. But your second cousin--if your Dad had a cousin and then that cousin had a kid then that would be your second cousin. Did you see your first or your second cousin?...Sorry, I didn't mean to be so personal. So, how was your day?...Well, tomorrow's Tuesday so you don't work...Oh, sorry. At least it's money in the bank...I saw my mother today. She made chicken, mashed potatoes--
WGWD gestures for her to give him back his phone.
--oh, I gotta go. He wants his phone back. I'll talk to you tomorrow.
Hangs up and hands WGWD his phone
RLBW: Sorry, was that too long?
WGWD: Yeah.
A few moments pass.
RLBW: So, where do you live?
WGWD: Oh, just up north off of 15th.
RLBW: In Crown Hill?
WGWD: Yeah.
RLBW: I live there, too! On 85th just off of 15th! Is that where you live?
WGWD: Just behind there.
RLBW: How come I've never seen you on this bus before?
WGWD makes a noncomittal noise.
RLBW: Do you want a tic tac?
WGWD: No, thanks.
RLBW: Oh, you don't like tic tacs?
WGWD: Something like that.
...
And then I got off the bus. I've been saying "Oh, you don't like tic tacs?" ever since. And I will never stop. And if someone needs to use my cellphone, I'll probably dial for them. Or pray for them.
As it is Saturday, I would like to report my most difficult task of the week. Given all that is going on--moving the theatre, continually writing that script I said was supposed to be done by 6pm on July 30th (I totally cheated), researching baby products (I can't stop) and recovering from a root canal with near-zero pain meds--you'd think that I'd cite, well, one of those things I already cited.
But, no!
Because, lo!
The most difficult thing for me this week was preventing myself from correcting the 9-year-old boy who misused the phrase "The tension is so thick in here you could cut it with a knife."
Friends, there was no tension. I had just given my students a writing exercise and this particular kid really really hates to write. So, instead of just focusing on the task and noting that quiet means people are working, he attributed it to tension. I imagine that his own feelings were that of tension, but considering that the exercise was to add on to each students braggarty poem of how awesome they were (singular they, people, singular they), I guarantee you that tension was not felt by all.
Why didn't I correct him? Two reasons (that should be pretty obvious): one, it would have been kinda mean and two, it would have distracted the other students from what they were supposed to be doing.
And there's a third reason: playing house. Not, like, dolls and stuff, but the playing house that means that kids are trying out things they've experienced out in the world. Y'know, like when teenagers write plays with ridiculous adult characters and situations--they're just playing around with other experiences. It's important...and gives them something to laugh at later.
Truly, it was pondering the above that gave me the strength to keep my mouth shut.
(You may have noticed I have zero will power when it comes to use of parantheses.)
Dear Manrique,
I am deeply indepted to you for your spam email of this morning, due not to its time-sensitive contents, but because your very name has caused me to realize that my own unborn child must be called after you, whether boy or girl.
Manrique, Manrique, Manrique!
best regards,
Ida
In other news, I had my monthly check-up this morning. Always a treat (ever-strong baby heartbeat! doctor with cute haircut!), today I discovered something so lovely, so timely, so likely to help with the pain in my left arm: my insurance covers bi-monthly massage. I am now equipped with a prescription for eight of 'em.
I don't even know why I'm typing this right now, I should be all oiled up.
Oh, Manrique...
I would like to take this sunny day opportunity to say that said sunshine is sunshining on the lovely bunch of flowers my extreme sports brother gave me at last night's dinner. It was an unexpected evening and a good good time.
We--Yellow Dog, Sister, SCN, Brother and Brother's Girlfriend (whom we'd not yet met but told us an awesome story about believing diamonds were in the asphalt when she was little)--wiled away the evening at Kingfish and were just generally relaxed. (Flowers were given to both sisters.)
The dinner invitation was given over the phone the night before, but it turned out that he was yelling outside our apartment window for awhile first. This makes me almost happier than the flowers.
I hardly ever see this brother even though he lives less than two hours away. One of the best things about him? He was a real fucker in younger days, but has absolutely turned into the guy who peeked out from the fucker edges. Y'know, the sweet one who paid attention and laughed and said nice things. (Which is not to say that he doesn't sometimes have rotten qualities...as do the rest of us.) He's the only one who can calm my mom down...though also the only one who will ditch her on Christmas morning to go snowmobiling (although he also took her snowmobiling the previous day).
Anyway. Dinner was great. And I hope there are more to come.
Someday maybe even both brothers will be there at the same time.
(This post brought to you by parantheses and the consumption of last night's leftovers.)