esprit de l'escalier

Hi

Hi. This month has been very busy, and it's almost over, but not before I go out of town yet again. I'm looking forward to the trip, but I'm also kind of tired. I knew I would be overdoing it a bit when I planned everything. Oh well.

Did anyone see Steven Moffat's update of Sherlock Holmes on Masterpiece Mystery last night? It was great. Moffat knows how to write slightly asocial geniuses and their friends along for the ride. It actually reminded me a lot of a great episode of Doctor Who. There was running, easy banter between the lead and his foil/sidekick. And wonderful casting. Benedict Cumberbatch is great as Holmes, but Martin Freeman as Watson is inspired, and their chemistry is excellent. (As an aside, Rupert Graves, who plays DI Lestrade, has been ALL over MM this season, appearing every show.)

If you missed last night's episdode, check it out online. Let me know what you think.

Four!

Last night I got in just before midnight. I had been gone from the house since Tuesday morning, and had been en route since four that afternoon. My week had been full. I was in Detroit for a couple of days for work, then went to New York for some fun. I ended up on a later flight than I had planned, as I took a $200 voucher to get bumped. Still, getting home at midnight was tiring. I pulled my two bags into the house, down the stairs, and Frank came bounding out of a bedroom to say hello. This is why we have pets. For that hello and love. It made getting in late not as bad.

In my days away I missed Frank's birthday. He turned four. FOUR! It's hard to believe such a long time has past since I got this little muffin of a kitten. He's a big cat now, but still the same friendly, sweet cat. He just tends to come home more often then not covered in burrs and the occassional scratch from a fight.

I sadly do not have any recent photos of Mr. Franklin Pierce (or Frankie "The Pickles" Parnassus, as Natasha dubbed him yesterday). I will leave you with some black and white shots from last fall and a promise that for the anniversary of his adoption, we'll have a photoshoot.

Some thoughts about narrative

Narrative was ever present in my upbringing. My mother would (and still does) fill time with stories of her youth, our youth, her parents, grandparents, pets, friends, acquaintances. Her mother told us stories. Many of these stories have become mythologized through their repetition. I love these stories. Even the ones that have been embroidered by my mother. They make me me and my family my family. They tell who we are. I can hear them again and again, and tell them myself.

I found kindred spirit in stories in my friend Libby. We met our freshman year of college. Sometime between now and then she explained to me our similarity - how telling stories is how we introduce ourselves to the world. Sometimes I worry when I tell stories about myself or friends, or heaven forbid repeat myself, thinking that perhaps I'm monopolizing the conversation, or perhaps I'm a wee bit self-centered, but I get over it. This is how I get to know people. I offer pieces of myself in the hopes that you will reciprocate.

Libby likes to ask people, when she meets them or if there is a lull in conversation, "Tell me a story." It flummoxes many, but I've found that if give some parameters, they come up with a tale to tell. Which reminds me of the greatest lesson I learned from high school journalism, but one that was deeply ingrained in me already, which is: everyone has a story. (Some people are just better at telling them.)

This is a very long-winded introduction to what happened to me this weekend. I drove up to Fort Wayne, IN to go to a college roommate's wedding. Senior year of college I lived in a house with the bride, Libby, and two other friends. The bride, Libby, and one of those girls moved to DC together and lived together for a couple of years (more or less). The three of them have a very good friend from DC who, previously to this weekend, I met briefly once and have never spent time with. She and I spent a lot of time together and every time I tried to tell her a story about myself, she stopped me to let me know she'd heard it before. It really threw me off my game. While I am capable of asking people questions with little set-up, in situations with friends of friends, and where I've been drinking and feel loquacious, I want to tell a story first. That gets me warmed up. I got past it, but it threw me for a loop. At least let me tell it again.