spamela hamderson

oh my god, have you seen this? It's the Muppet Wiki -- more specifically their page of parody muppets.

Among my favorites:

Billy Idle. He sang "Rebel L" about, well, I'll let you guess.

Bruce Stringbean. Rockin' the leather jacket era.
Donald Grump. Sporting a nice 'do in the hood.
Meryl Sheep. Apparently her audition script there reads "Baa baaa baaa baa baaa baa."
Sally Messy Yuckyael. Love it!
Placido Flamingo. Apparently he sings at the "Nestopolitan Opera."
and my favorite (who also looks an AWFUL LOT like Miss Piggy...) Spamela Hamderson.

Excellent!

emotional white picket fences

There are times in my life (usually when I've just made a huge, earth-shattering discovery) when I wish someone had beaten me about the head years ago. (No, I'm not taking volunteers, but thanks!)

I've learned a thing or two recently about boundaries.

For the longest time, I didn't think about boundaries. I thought, hey, I'm pretty cool, and I like feeling close to people, so I'm going to show you everything I've got, and you can go shopping in my soul to fill up your basket. That way, you'll like me better... so I can like me better!

It really never occurred to me to keep anything back. I thought that if a relationship was "real," it was meant to handle the mess and the ugly and the misery of a drowning person (me). That was its point, right? I never really knew the benefit of handling something on your own, and then approaching your friend/lover/parent/etc. as a person.

(Insert blanket apology to all my ex-boyfriends, ever.)

(Oh, and my family.)

(Yeah, ok, my friends, too.)

(Random reader? You want in? Fine. My apologies for all those years.)

Having been single for a while now, and recently going through something best described as "tricky" with one of my closest friends (which means we haven't spoken on a daily basis like we're used to), I've begun to see the benefits of handling emotional things on my own, and having boundaries.

Turns out: boundaries aren't just about what you let in from other people, but what you let out from yourself. (hmmmmm.)

As an actor, it is valuable to have access to a lot of emotion. (I think this holds true for human beings in general, but I'm just me.) However, there is a difference between "being emotional" and acting on that emotion. For example, a few years ago, I was so dismally unhappy with myself, I started to cry in front of my boyfriend who, bless his soul, didn't judge or walk away or anything. He just stayed with me and supported me. A total hero. The more I cried, the more wretched I felt. That sinking, spiraling feeling overwhelmed me and I got angry, sick, sad, miserable... a million crappy feelings at once. (I forget how it ended. Maybe my hero boyfriend rallied me. I only remember how awful it was.)

The problem was that the more I shared this with him, the crappier I felt about it. I wanted him to rescue me, but he couldn't.

If I had had a sense of my boundaries back then, I would have told him that I was having a crappy night, that he should go home and that I would take care of myself and either come by later or not. It's easy to succumb to the idea that someone else can take care of you better than you, and while someone can be supportive and help you out, you're the one changing your mind. You're the one doing the work.

Tom Kenyon (a random guy I found on the internet, who I happen to like) said in an article about boundaries, "To say 'no' to ourselves or another can sometimes be the most courageous and powerful act imaginable. And sometimes, saying 'no' to someone is more 'loving' (i.e., caring) than saying 'yes.'"

Of course I'll continue to be an open, trusting person. That's just my nature. And I'm sure I'll overstep and understep my boundaries in the future. But I finally know about them, and what they feel like. I'm willing to work on them and keep them in my awareness.

So go ahead, try and mess with me. I'm Boundary Girl now!

(um, no, please don't.)
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In writing this, I looked around online for some framing ideas, and came across some thoughts that didn't incorporate themselves neatly into what I was writing. I share them with you in a half-hearted attempt to smack any of you over the head who want it (or will want it further down the road).

This site talks about how unhealthy boundaries may appear in a relationship, mainly in six different ways:

• Lack of a Sense of Identity
• Settling for Second Best
• Over-Responsibility and Guilt (for someone else's well-being)
• The Difference Between Love and Rescue
• Fantasy vs. Reality

This site talks about how the way we let people treat us delineates our own boundaries. (Yeah, duh, it's obvious, but, give me a break here, I just figured this out!)

This site delineates the range of boundaries, including healthy boundaries, unhealthy boundaries, walls and no boundaries.

It also shows the signs of healthy boundaries, for those of you who are now worried:

• Appropriate trust
• Revealing a little of yourself at a time, then checking to see how the other person responds to your sharing
• Moving step by step into intimacy
• Putting a new acquaintanceship on hold until you check for compatibility
• Deciding whether a potential relationship will be good for you
• Staying focused on your own growth and recovery
  Weighing the consequence before acting on sexual impulse
• Being sexual when you want to be sexual--concentrating largely on your own pleasure rather than monitoring reactions of partner
• Maintaining personal values despite what others want
  Noticing when someone else displays inappropriate boundaries
• Noticing when someone invades your boundaries
• Saying "NO" to food, gifts, touch, sex you don't want
• Asking a person before touching them
• Respect for others--not taking advantage of someone's generosity
• Self-respect--not giving too much in hope that someone will like you
• Not allowing someone to take advantage of your generosity
• Trusting your own decisions
• Defining your truth, as you see it
• Knowing who you are and what you want
• Recognizing that friends and partners are not mind-readers
• Clearly communicating your wants and needs (and recognizing that you may be turned down, but you can ask)
• Becoming your own loving parent
• Talking to yourself with gentleness, humor, love and respect

iphone hacker

If you've turned your computer on today, you've probably seen a picture or two of the iPhone hacker, the guy who managed to free up the new Apple iPhone for use on networks other than AT&T. If you haven't, well, there, I've just told you the news. (You can read it here, though.)
(the hero of the story)

Is it just me, or does it look like the news story should read more like this:
SAN FRANCISCO - The teenage hacker who managed to unlock the iPhone so that it can be used with cellular networks other than AT&T is now suing the company over the iPhone's unfortunate and shocking ability to get out of his pocket and kill all his friends, neighbors and, well, actually, anyone he's ever met.

George Hotz, of Glen Rock, N.J., said of the newly liberated iPhone, "This thing sucks. Once I had a life, and now this little piece of crap, which I have to hold in my hand very firmly for fear that it will escape and kill someone else, has taken that from me. I've never before been so angry and sad at the same time."

Shunned before by jocks and hotties alike, Hotz is suffering a new level of loneliness, having been kicked out of even the AV Club. "We're not his friends," said one geek bent over a disemboweled iPhone, quickly shoveling pieces into the trash, "and we had nothing to do with this." He added quickly, "We're not jealous, either."

Hotz is reportedly putting the new phone on eBay, and the opening bid is one date. Said a prospective buyer, "Ooh, that's a steep price. But my ex-husband really sucks, and I was thinking of maybe giving him a call…"

i heart mike rowe

As you all know (because I haven't spoken to any of you since it happened), I got cable! Which delightfully means I can now hang out with my favorite pretend boyfriend: Mike Rowe, of the Discovery Channel's Dirty Jobs.

This guy cracks me up. His delivery is genius, he merges fearlessness with utter stupidity and he says "poo" more than any seven year old I've ever met. And did I mention he's gorgeous?
The show's website is a little cheesy, but check out some of his outtakes here -- I especially recommend the one with the pig.

The guy does smelly, nasty, outrageous things with little hesitation and few complaints. Come on, what's not to love??

i’ve fallen! and i can’t get up!

My family has this thing about falling down. I think it started when I was born, and my grandmother fell in the grocery store (or was it the driveway? the kitchen?) and, my mother thinks, cracked her hip. She got very sore -- practically immobile -- and spent the next three weeks in the rocking chair on the third floor (back in the 70s, when we had a third floor), with me standing up in her lap. My poor mother, post-pregnancy, would trundle food up to my grandma (and me), toting my (at the time) almost three-year-old sister around the house with her. Sure, she didn't have to take care of screaming little me, but I'm pretty sure she would have preferred being the one in the rocking chair.

But this is not the story. It is merely the beginning.

My sister was sleepwalking one night when we were on vacation in Door County Wisconsin (she was probably trying to walk back to something that resembled civilization), and she fell down the stairs, waking up only when she had hit the bottom.

My mom once took a fairly serious header off a curb in NYC and hit her head on a truck and then the gutter. (We had to laugh about that a lot later.)

My mother, sister and I did a three car pile up in Florence when mom tripped over her shoe, Polly tripped over my mom, and I tripped over Polly. (My dad continued on down the street, completely oblivious). (This gets reenacted during Dinner Plate Theatre, and often involves the noisy clanking of a spoon on top of a fork on top of a spoon.)

My aunt fell off her shoe. My mom fell on her computer. I fell up the stairs. Any time gravity over-exerts itself on a member of my family, we tend to report it to one another. And then laugh.

Which is why, when I fell off my shoe AND fell down the stairs in the front of the bar I was at last night, I had to report back to my family. "Just fell off my shoe and down the stairs. Thought you should know."

I landed partially on my 99 cent bottle of Faux Drano and partially on my knee (both emerged mostly unharmed, if not a little leaky). I got a small scrape on my left knee and an even smaller one on my right ankle. But the best part of it all was when my friend Andrea (who is recently returned from south america -- yippee!) said, "do you want to walk down the street a little bit and then cry?"

"No," I said, smiling at her logic, "I don't think I actually need to cry. But I would like to walk away a bit so I can inspect the damage without a whole bar full of people staring at my clumsy ass!"

Feel free to call me Grace.

read this. it will change your life.

Would you like fries with your drivel today? (If so, please go out and purchase them. This is not a charity operation, you know.)

A few things I'd like to comment on, in no particular order:

1. I am not one to say "never," but I believe this firmly: Cantaloupe should NEVER be green and furry.

2. A friend from high school was in town recently and asked me if I had had a breast reduction. I turned to him and said, "I've had a whole ME reduction!" and then proceeded to call him a boob-looker for the rest of the night.

3. Have I mentioned that I finally joined the human race and got cable? Yes, yes, I did! I also got high speed internet and phone, too. Except, (surprise, surprise) the phone doesn't work. I called Time Warner to report it and they said I have to call them from my home. Excellent.

3a. I got cable on Wednesday and was out late Wednesday night, so I couldn't watch it or play with it at all. And then, on Thursday I went my parents' house straight after work. So Thursday morning, slightly hung-over, I stood naked in my living room, towel turban on my head, trying to program my DVR and pack my suitcase at the same time, periodically running into the other room to put clothes on. It was a sight.

(an approximation of my inner monologue: "Ok, CSI.... "press select"... ok, select! .... brrr, I need some pants.... oh! Pants! good idea, pack those!... Ooh, Mythbusters! Yeah, I like that!.... man, I'm thirsty.... hmmm, what shirt should I wear?")

4. I believe that, in mid-August, I should not be sleeping in long pants and a long sleeve shirt under my heavy blanket. Unless I'm feeling especially profligate and am sleeping directly under the air conditioner. (which is almost never the case)

I also believe, unrelatedly, that you should not wake up to August temperatures that correlate to the hour of the day (e.g., it should not be 55 degrees at 7:55, like it was today). And (also unrelatedly) I believe that you should never have to wake up at airplane o'clock (7:47).

5. I sent this email to my friend Keri today, who I'm sure now thinks I'm insane:

Dear Library,
Keri recommended this book. can I have it please?
Love,
Kate
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Dear Kate,
Yes, you can have it, after 179 other people read it.
Love,
NYPL
-----------------------
Dear NYPL,
You kind of stink. But only a little. By the way, here's my $1.75 for five books overdue a day. My bad.
Love you!
k8
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Dear Kate,
We love you, too. Would you like to send us $20 as part of our fundraising event? Please?Pretty please?
Your BEST FRIEND,
NYPL
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Dear NYPL,
Here's $20, but please stop calling me and hanging up. It's getting awkward.
Regards,
Kate
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Dearest, sweetest, most lovable Kate,
Where have you gone?I MISS YOU SO DESPERATELY!I am holding all your holds until you come in and I can hold you again.
Your hot lover,
NYPL
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To the New York Public Library,
You are hereby ordered to stay 50 feet away from Ms. Katherine Surgeon at all times. Failure to do so may result in a fine and/or prison sentence.
THE NEW YORK POLICE DEPARTMENT

At least I crack myself up.

thwarted good samaritanism

Thursday night I got on a train and headed out to my parents' house for a weekend of sitting around, eating and generally doing nothing. (Which was excellent, by the way, thanks for asking.)

However, when I got off the train at the end of the line, I noticed that someone had left a purse on the rack over the seats, and, not really trusting the MTA's Lost & Found, I took the purse with me to my parents' house, ready to call the owner and let her know her purse was safe and sound, and in the hands of a sane, friendly person.

Except there was absolutely nothing with identification in the purse. No wallet, no ID, no mail. Nothing. Not even a library card. The only thing in there was a pair of shoes (not my style) and a huge WAD of keys. There must have been ten keys and fifteen keychains on that thing. And easily ten quick tags -- the little cards you can get from places like (oh, say for example) CVS, AAA, Sam Goody, Shop Rite, etc.

My first thought was to call AAA, of course. I dialed the number on the tag, and they asked for the ID number... which had been partially scratched off the tag by endless rubbing against sixty five keychains. I then called the car dealership that was printed on one of the keychains. Nobody answered. I started to give up hope.

My father championed the cause, and called CVS and Shop Rite (who did not treat him well, so he called the CEO to complain), with no luck.

My mother championed the cause, and took a picture of the purse, and made a poster for us to take back to the train station and hang up. Except, whenever my mother and the computer are involved, things get a little haywire.

The first poster was very simple, and looked like this:
(Except the 555-5555 was replaced with my parents' phone number. You don't need to know that. If I gave it out they'd be inundated with calls about how much time their daughter wastes. Don't bother, they already know.)

Well, we got a little giddy about the poster, and the second version looked a little more like this: I, of course, had to get my own two cents in, and reworked the poster myself (at this point, mind you, my mother and I are in such hysterics that we can't breathe, and tears are running down our cheeks. There's something about my mother's laugh that just cuts me up inside. When she gets going, it's really hard for me to stop.)
The purse sat on the countertop all weekend, staring us in the face, announcing its inappropriate presence at all hours. We sometimes carried it around, pretending it was ours. It became the butt of ugly jokes. We talked about all the things we should be doing to find its owner. (My dad mentioned posting it on my blog and I said "pshaw, Dad, I only write about intersting stuff there!") In the end, we just agreed that I would take it back to Grand Central Station on Monday, on my way to work.

Except that my sister eventually got sick of looking at it, and put it somewhere less obtrusive on Sunday night. So I forgot to grab it this morning on my way out the door.

Sheesh! Who knew it was so hard to be a good samaritan?