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Still, I have been called a curmudgeon by Bitch magazine. --Sarah Vowell, in Take the Cannoli |
Wednesday, May 10, 2000 Scholarship, Spider, Sarah Got up -- not all that long after I went to sleep -- by the sound of my answering machine, on which I was being informed that I'd made the first cut of applicants for a scholarship I'd recently applied for, and that I had to get down to the Office of Honors and Scholarships to type up my application form, to be sent along to the people who'll be making the final choices. Which was nice, in that it was good news, and not very nice, in that I'd really needed more sleep. Anyway, I eventually made my way to college just in time for my acting class, which was a lot of fun, involving a couple of improvisation games. During the break in the class, I scurried over to the office mentioned above and quickly typed up the application, arriving back in class a little bit late, but not by all that much. And then the last improv bit in class concluded with Yours Truly leading a bunch of classmates in a rousing rendition of "Itsy Bitsy Spider." Well, okay, maybe it wasn't really all that rousing, but the point is that any day that involves singing "Itsy Bitsy Spider" can't really be a bad one.
After class, I got some kosher pizza from the cafeteria, checked my e-mail, got a bit depressed about the fact that not one of my readers had e-mailed me about my birthday (it was possible, I reasoned, that they had all decided to use the Jewish calendar, on which my birthday is this Saturday, but that seemed pretty unlikely... which meant that it was more likely that they were simply tired of my never answering my mail, or that it was related to the fact that I haven't updated much lately. Oddly enough, the idea that it was my own damn fault that nobody cared about my birthday failed to make me feel any better), and then headed off for a Barnes and Noble in Manhattan, where Sarah Vowell was to be reading and signing her new book, Take the Cannoli. I arrived a bit early, got a good seat, and claimed another one for Jen, who was supposed to be meeting me there. Well, Jen ended up making it there pretty late, along with her friend Rod, missing most of the actual reading. But aside from that, it was very nice. There was an interesting bit of cognitive dissonance at the beginning, with Vowell's distinctive voice seemingly coming from a speaker a few feet away from where she was, which added to the bit of cognitive dissonance in seeing an actual person speaking in her voice (which I'd previously heard only on the radio) in the first place, but I soon got over that and just enjoyed the reading. Not to mention a brief bit in the middle when she illustrated one of her essays by playing the recorder (which, she said, she hadn't played in two years). It was, in short, an enjoyable experience. And then she finished reading, and answered a few questions (very few, only because almost nobody could think of anything to ask), followed by the book signing, at which point Jen and Rod found me, and Jen gave me a birthday card and present (a book I've been trying to borrow from her for months), bemoaned the state of her recently-fabulous hair (which looked okay to me, but what do I know?), assured me that somebody was bound to e-mail me about my birthday before the day was out, and then left me to get my copy of the book signed. A few weeks earlier, when we'd been to the Terry Pratchett reading, I ended up talking to him for about two full minutes, rather to my surprise, while the rest of the line waited for their turn. It was a nice mini-conversation in which he tried to give me a bit of advice on being a writer. This time around, despite a much shorter line (which I was basically at the end of, anyway), I froze. Her assistant asked for my name just before I got to her, which he put on a Post-It note on the book. She looked at the note and said, "That's S-H-M-U-E-L?" "Uh-huh," I wittily replied. She went on to inscribe my name, and her signature, and the date and location, while I stood there mutely. Then she finished, I mumbled "Thank you," and I made my way downstairs and paid for the book.
Upon which I ran into Jen again, and told her what had happened. "Why didn't you say something?!" she said. "What was I supposed to say? 'Hi Sarah my name is Shmuel I'm a huge fan of yours and you're my favorite correspondent on This American Life and your column is the only feature in Salon that I read regularly I have it bookmarked and it's my birthday today I'm also a writer and I'm also known for my caustic wit and talent and basically you're doing everything I want to be doing I actually feel a bit depressed 'cause you're only three years older than me and you've already done all this stuff and I've hardly gotten started and... and... and...'?" "Yeah, go back up there!" she urged me. "You've gotta be kidding. That would look even dorkier. 'Umm, I kinda froze before, but I just wanted to say...' I don't think so." The discussion continued along these lines for the next few minutes, upon which Sarah Vowell herself came downstairs, talking to a couple of fans and walking toward the door... which we were beside, as we passionately debated the plausability, advisability, and dorkiness quotient of my going up to her and saying something. Given how vocal said discussion got, in fact, the odds are pretty good that she noticed us, if not necessarily our topic of discussion, and, if so, I'd imagine she decided to stay far away from the nuts by the door. Anyway, she left (I said "bye," and she reciprocated), and we left. The security guard by the door seemed relieved to see us go, which probably went for the nearby sales clerk also. But, hey, don't take my word for it. Go read Jen's side of the story. She tells it better, anyway.
Anyway, I got home, found two electronic cards in my mailbox, which made me feel much better, saw the episode of The Drew Carey Show that I'd taped ('twas okay), and... well, wrote this. And now I'm going to sleep, I think. G'night, all.
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