My Big Chance with Terry

I've had an extensive professional crush on NPR's golden child and creator of "Fresh Air", Terry Gross, for quite a while. Due to a touch of good karma, sharing a studio space and synchronized bathroom schedules, I had found myself face to face (or side by side at the sink) with her multiple times.

Our encounters were less than forgettable...for her. For me they became journal entries as I replayed the exchange over and over again.

Kelly: Oh, hi. How are you? Sorry my stuff is all over the sink. It looks like I vomited the contents of my bag all over the counter. Sorry. Oops. Here, let me get that for you. Sorry. Ha. I'm a mess.

Terry: (Pause) Okay.

My network found a new studio space and we were no longer going to rent space from NPR in Philadelphia so my time with Terry was running short. I baked holiday cookies to take around the office with the hope of wowing her with my mad baking skills, but her producer assured me Terry wouldn't be interested. I tell myself it's a gluten intolerance and not personal.

It wasn't until a few days before our departure that I finally got my chance to change her life.

Terry's paper holder went missing. It became my personal mission to make sure she got it back and that it stayed in her possession. I spoke with the building management, with our production team, other NPR reporters. Terry found the paper holder but the culprit remains a mystery.

It was my last day at NPR. I was done shooting my show and had one final chance to grasp that long sought after connection. I straightened my shirt. Debated taking out my pigtails (the signature trait of my character) but decided they were better than having kinked hair. Restraightened my shirt. I knocked.

"Excuse me, Ms. Gross?" I said, my voice cracking.

"Oh, call me Terry." She said.

I smiled and let out a surprised and uncomfortable giggle but regained control quickly and continued. "Did you find out who took your paper holder?"

"No. But thank you so much for looking into that."

We talked about how valuable a paper holder can be to neck health. We chatted about my network and the show. I even had the chance to say how much I like her work. And when we parted ways she said "Good luck", but I know she really meant, "You're awesome Kelly. Let's be friends."

My mom freaked out about rip tides yesterday. We live in Ohio. Rip tides can take anyone though. You're swimming or wading in the water or even just looking at a picture of Cape Cod and next thing you know you're being swept out to sea. I give my mom credit because when something concerns her she proactively works to fight that fear. Mom spoke with a guy at the grocery store who instructed her to swim parallel to the shore if caught in a rip tide. Good to know. Good to know.

I'm Amazing

I amaze myself with how amazing I continually get. I don't just stay at one level of amazing, but I burst through new layers of amazing every day. Like moving into my friend's attic. That's pretty amazing. I mean, how many people get to do that? I'm also going to be appearing on a cable talk show soon. I think it will air on channel 1249. Not many people even have that many channels. How amazing is that? And my birthday is coming up. I'm probably going to dance rehearsal then I'll grab a whiskey and watch court TV. Dance rehearsal. Sounds exotic, huh? I even get to dance with some cute guys. How many other people get to be swept across the dance floor with cuties on their birthday? I'm so amazing.

Velco was invented in Lexington, Nebraska, a little town that has a Motel 8, a beef slaughtering house and since the 1950's, a velcro museum. Understandably. I know this because I was once broken down in Lexington, Nebraska. By "broken down" I mean my car broke down, but this breaking down lead to my own personal break down based on the fact that I was helplessly stuck in a town with only a Motel 8, a beef slaughtering house and a velcro museum (which I toured).

Today on Animal Planet

Observe the Upper Classius Socialitis. Notice their movements as they go about their daily tasks. Observe their apparent disregard for one another. This species thrives mostly on an individual basis, pausing only for casual greeting and the occasional mating. The Males and Females of the Upper Classius Socialitis species rarely tend to their own young. There are surrogate member of the Middle Classius and Lower Classius species more commonly known as "The Help" who take turns caring for the youngest of the more privileged species. They follow the Upper Classius and are occasionally eaten.
Notice how the adults of the Upper Classius get their fists stuck in the small doorways of their mansions and offices, oblivious to the simple solution leading to freedom. Instead they stay trapped with their hands tightly wound around various possessions and other vital resources. Likewise, the Middle and lower Classius (Classii?) follow their example. But are occasionally eaten.

Argyle Socks with High Heals

My show at the Montgomery Theater opened this weekend and it was described as "So funny", "Delightful", and "Smart" by my roomate Becca, an expert in giving great compliments. She also said that I have nice calves. I don't own cows so I'm assuming she means my legs.

There's a scene in The Quiet Man with John Wayne where he drags his stubborn wife (played by Maureen O'Hara) 5 miles back to their house. She falls a couple times, loses a shoe, hits her head on the ground and struggles to keep up. All the towns people are watching with bated breath to see if their hero will succeed in calming the storm that is his wife. Aren't we all victims? Maureen O'Hara has strength that she is unable to display but at the same time John Wayne is living up to the tough guy stereotype when maybe all he really wants to do follow.

Dramedy

I've recently joined an improv tragedy group. "What is improv tragedy?" you may ask. I suppose it's not so different from improv comedy. It's hard to tell the difference between tragedy and comedy sometimes anyway.

Aunt Doris stood there in Aunt Connie's bedroom a few years ago. Her trip from Indiana went well. No real complications. We chatted lightly as I tried to avert my eyes away from the new flatness on the right side of her nightgown. The loss of symatry is so painful. We talked of her grandsons, her impending move to North Carolina, fond memories of grandma. My mind tessered to a time when I'd visit the town house she shared with Aunt Peggy and we'd all go trick-or-treating or swimming in the community pool. I quickly forgot about her missing breast. She was a survivor. A person who lived richly. She lived in Michigan when her husband was alive. She moved to Ohio when we needed her. Her grandchildren in Indiana had her for a few years and grandchildren in North Carolina were blessed with her pressence until she died on Wednesday. She was a sort of Mary Poppins I suppose. She'd pop in and bring a spoonful sugar then move on to the next house in need. I will miss her.