Monday, April 11, 2011
Only nineteen at the time, I recall her telling a few of us the story of The Day Her Ass Fell. She looked a thousand acres beyond our heads and recanted, "I was in front of the mirror, naked, brushing my long raven hair." She pretended to drag a brush past the length of her current bob. "Then, all of a sudden* I spotted something in the mirror! What was that??"
Ever the storyteller, she leapt up from her chair, almost knocking it backwards on the floor. "What the-- whaa??" Now full on bending over looking through her legs.
"AHHHHHHHHHH!!! IT WAS MY ASS!!! MY ASS FELL!!!" at the top of her lungs.
Everyone exploded. I howled until streaks of mascara stained the front of my t-shirt. I laughed at her delivery and the absurdity of it all. My toned muscles and elastic skin, unscathed by the ravages of gravity, could not even venture to relate. So, I laughed it up, at her and her fallen ass' expense. She ate up our chuckles and got high.
Now, almost daily, I think back to that story. But this time, I'm no longer laughing. This is not a laughing matter. I need to either a) get to a gym tout suite or b) dismantle Einstein's theory of general relativity. Both seem equally difficult to me right now.
*there's always an 'all of a sudden' in every story
Friday, April 08, 2011
Thursday, April 07, 2011
|Stephen Hawking and his first wife, Jane, 1965|
We're going to see Stephen Hawking on Saturday! We tried a couple years back, but he fell ill and couldn't make the transatlantic trip. Fingers crossed that we get to see one of the greatest minds of our time this weekend.
It's mind-boggling that I'll be in the same room as this man. As Wayne and Garth would say, "WE'RE NOT WORTHY!"