1-Day #ChristmasCountdown: Afternoon

Remember how I said my knee was sore and it would probably become a problem and I would bitch about it on here when it did?

I AM NOW BITCHING.

We ran about a quarter of a mile this morning before I decided my knee hurt too much for me to push it and maybe make it worse. So thank goodness Scott ran three miles without us yesterday and Rob had car troubles and couldn’t join us this morning so I don’t feel like I wasted anyone’s time and effort.

Well, not thank goodness about Rob’s car troubles; car troubles suck. But thank goodness he wasn’t here; he’s a tedious bore and all he ever talks about is grapes and owls. I mean I’m glad I didn’t cause him an unnecessary drive to join us for what ended up being a two-and-three-quarters-mile walk. That first part was a typo.

Also: I forgot to wear my awesome-o running watch this morning, which undoubtedly contributed to my knee pain. Stupid watch.

Anyway, we took our didn’t-running selfie in front of this cracked, brittle old stick wreath, which is the perfect metaphor for the circle of our friendship. Plus it’s round, so if you squint really hard it kinda looks like a human head, which in turn kinda looks like a semi-plausible maybe-ish stand-in for Rob. Plus if you squint really hard you could also strain your optic nerve, and I’ve always thought Strain Your Optic Nerve would make a great band name. Or not.

Plus ignore that CD that’s tucked in the wreath. It’s filled with high-definition scanned photos for a book I’m editing. Apparently nobody was home when my scanning guy dropped it off. And apparently I forgot to check for it when I knew he was dropping it off. TWO DAYS AGO. I blame my knee.

Stupid knee.

Cake I like

1. I just left the 150th anniversary celebration/reunion of alumni of the University of Iowa’s Daily Iowan newspaper

2. Which has been and continues to be one of the country’s foremost influential and innovation-vanguard college newspapers
3. With AP accreditation and everything
4. As you might have inferred from my use of the word alumni in point 1, I worked there when I attended the University of Iowa
5. First as a copy editor
6. Which means proofreading and fact-checking nerd
7. Then as copy desk editor
8. Which means head proofreading and fact-checking nerd
9. I got paid to correct people’s grammar
10. And brutally curtail their garish use of excessive, showy punctuation
11. Grammar. Nerd. Power. Trip.
12. Though this probably explains why I’m single and living in my parents’ basement at the age of 50
13. And destined to die alone
14. I also wrote a weekly grammar column for the Daily Iowan
15. Seriously
16. It was called "That Grammar Guy"
17. The name was inspired by the TV show That Girl
18. I am not making this up
19. It used bizarre humor, recurring characters—including a cat named Xanthippe—and my own—hopefully funny—mnemonic devices to explain English grammar
20. Xanthippe was Socrates’ wife
21. But I used the name because I thought it was funny and not for its ties to any concept of learning
22. Mnemonic means "memory-aiding"
23. The m is silent
24. The first one, I mean
25. You’re welcome
26. Anyway ...
27. "That Grammar Guy" ran in the Daily Iowan every Monday for two years
28. I got fan mail
29. Mostly from foreign students who were struggling to learn our crazy-ass melting-pot language
30. I also reviewed theater, music and dance for the Daily Iowan
31. So my work there was both nerdy and gay
32. In my capacity as copy desk editor, I hired my brilliant and delightful friend Annette
33. I got to sit next to her at tonight’s dinner
34. Where it occurred to me that everyone in the room—and every career path we represented—was there based on an intricate genealogy of hiring decisions
35. Mind. Blown.
36. I also sat by my friend Tad, who is at least four years younger than I am
37. We didn’t work together at the DI, so I have no proof that he wasn’t at tonight’s dinner just for the pork and the really delicious ranch dressing
38. Speaking of, I didn’t notice until after I sat at our table that each seat had been pre-assigned a random dessert selection
39. I’m glad I accidentally sat in front of the chocolate cake, because it was insanely delicious
40. I noticed early on that Annette probably wasn’t going to finish hers, and I will go to my grave regretting that I did not ask her if I could have it if she was done ignoring its insane deliciousness
41. My running buddy Rob was also at our table but he left before the evening’s program was over so I barred him from being in our post-program group selfie
42. Long-lost friend Jamie wasn’t at our table but he came over to say hi after the program so he’s my new selfie buddy in place of Leavin’ Rob
43. The keynote speaker for the program was a man who hadn’t given me a job right after I’d graduated from college
44. EVEN THOUGH WE WERE BOTH IN THE ETERNAL BROTHERHOOD OF THE IOWAN THAT IS DAILY
45. But he told a story about marketing tampons to young Russian women tonight, so I guess it’s time I forgave and forgot
46. Tampons
47. Russian women
48. Yes, THAT old cliché
49. So there was this one guy who wrote editorials at the DI when I was there
50. Dark hair, lean, handsome, smart, old-money patrician air
51. Did I mention handsome?
52. This might surprise you given the dearth of hints I’ve provided leading up to this bombshell, but I had a huge crush on him
53. Especially on the days when he wore shorts
54. The crush was so eternal and all-consuming that I’ve completely forgotten his name by now
55. But obviously not his legs
56. This did not stop me, however, from hoping he’d be there tonight
57. And that we’d flirt awkwardly
58. Which is the only way I know how to
59. And then we’d totally make out
60. Oops. Did I just say that?
61. And then instead of sitting here typing this endless post, I’d be marrying him in the DI newsroom
62. With everyone at the reunion cheering for us
63. And fighting each other for exclusive coverage of our wedding
64. (We are all newspaper people, of course)
65. And, of course, in this scenario I’d also get Annette’s leftover cake
66. Plus everyone else’s
67. Because I’m one of the grooms and DON’T RUIN MY BIG DAY BY EATING ALL MY CAKE, PEOPLE
68. Sheesh
69. Journalism people, amirite?
70. Anyway, I didn’t see anyone there tonight who looked like him
71. But none of the guys had any legs out for inspection
72. So here I sit, writing this long-ass post instead
73. Which I’d kinda hoped would stretch to 150 points
74. Because it’s the 150th anniversary of the paper
75. But no

First Immutable Rule of the Copy Desk:

Never -- NEVER! -- enter copy into the system that you don't want accidentally overlooked and sent to press.

The end of every show brings with it a certain sense of loss:

You miss the people you worked with, you miss the experiences of learning and creating and performing you shared, you miss the thrill of being on stage doing something you love and hopefully something you’re proud of ... and you plain-old miss having something to DO with your free time.

One Man, Two Guvnors was the fourth in a string of shows I’ve LOVED being a part of this year. And now it’s over. The set and costumes and props have been struck, the huggy goodbyes have been shared among the cast and crew and director, the small mountains of socks and T-shirts and other potential necessities I always keep backstage are being washed as we speak, and my Google calendar already says HAIRCUT! at 5:30 tomorrow. I’m lucky in that I went right to another audition tonight to keep my theater-magic momentum going and I start this week on a massive pro bono book-editing project I’ve taken on, so I won’t have the letdown I could. But I already miss the inspiredly wacky people I’ve spent almost every night for the last eight weeks with and I especially miss the upper-class British twit Stanley Stubbers, who gave me my first and no doubt last opportunity to say “I bunked on physics and spent my lessons in the radiation cupboard trying to make my penis glow” every night on stage with a straight face staring into the eyes of a dangerously funny actor who constantly had me THIS CLOSE to cracking up no matter which of us said what. And that last sentence pretty much sums up everything I love about being in a constant parade of shows. So I’m going to bed a little sad about everything I’m going to miss about the whole experience of this show but more than thrilled that I’m lucky enough to have so much to miss. Good night!