Archive for July, 2005

His name is Peter Schlong

Steve and I went to see a hypnotist performance at Higher Ground. I have seen hypnotist performances before and they are always hilarious, but this time it was different, because Steve got himself hypnotized! He got hypnotized in the audience, got picked and ended up on the stage.  (I never get hypnotized because the hypnotist always speaks into the microphone really closely and I can’t make out what he is saying.) As the hypnotist did his countdown to a deeper, more relaxed state, Steve was so relaxed that he was slouched down in the chair with his head nearly at a 90 degree angle sideways, practically on the shoulder of the stranger next to him. It’s one thing to see this performance of people you don’t know, it’s quite another to see it happen to your husband and to know without a doubt that he is not making any of it up. The hypnotist did a swaying test and weeded out more people who were not under this way. Out of everyone on the stage, Steve appeared to be the second most heavily influenced.

Then the hypnotist convinced everyone on stage that they were very happy and very drunk. Steve said later that while he was sitting in the chair, he didn’t think he was drunk at all and that it wasn’t working. But then the hypnotist had him stand up and he started staggering sideways. The hypnotist had to catch him, “Whoa,” he said. “What’s your name?” he asked. “Steve,” Steve said, giggling, and then he staggered again. The hypnotist sat him back down without doing the little trick to make Steve feel drunker like he did with the others. “You’ve had enough to drink,” he said.

Steve sat down and I could not stop laughing at the look on his face. The hypnotist told everyone to sleep again and Steve was out like a lightbulb, his head dangling on his chest. Then the hypnotist told everyone that that their right arm was made of steel and they couldn’t bend it, no matter how hard they tried. Steve again said later that he obliged with holding his arm out straight, but was convinced that when asked to, he would be able to bend it just fine. Until it was his turn, that is. The hypnotist asked him to bend his arm, and you could tell he was straining as hard as he could to bend it, and could not. The look on his face at this point was priceless. He was utterly stupefied, staring at his arm. A lot of the others couldn’t bend their arms either, but didn’t seem overly impressed. Steve was just incredulous, as if it was contradicting everything he has ever known be true about the laws of nature. I think because of the expression on Steve’s face, the hypnotist then singled him out and had him stand up.

The hypnotist then suggested that Steve’s other arm was made of steel as well, and Steve stood there with both of his arms sticking out. The hypnotist had also planted the suggestion that Steve needed to pee. But in Steve’s mind, this was absolutely secondary to the unbelievable fact that he COULDN’T BEND HIS ARMS. The hypnotist kept joking about Steve’s predictiment until Steve said “I’m going to hit you with my steel arms.” Everyone laughed and the hypnotist finally freed Steve from his steel arms.

As the evening went on, Steve was convinced that it was physically impossible to get out of his chair, that his underwear was shrinking, that he was a judge on American Idol, that he was being goosed every time he said his last name, and that a man in the audience was talking about him and making him uncomfortable. At which point he tried to leave his seat and found that he could not. He still couldn’t believe it, and tried with all his strength to get out of the chair, which just made him look like he was engaging in very strenuous toileting activity.

A couple times during the performance, Steve came out of it. I could tell immediately when that happened. The hypnotist eventually noticed too, and just gave him some extra attention to put him back under. It was utterly amazing. I have always been fascinated by hypnosis, and to see utterly logical, sensible Steve go under to the point that it alters his beliefs about himself and his body, was the clincher. This stuff WORKS. Imagination and intention becomes a physiological reality. I just cannot conceive how it is possible, but it would be a great tool to use- to improve memory, heal your body and mind, among other things.

The grand finale of the performance involved convincing everyone on stage (only about six people left at this point, as the hypnotist weeded out more and more volunteers who didn’t fully go under) that they were world-renowned exotic dancers with their own stage names. He went to Steve first and asked him his name, “Peter Schlong” he replied immediately.

One by one, the significant other of each person on stage came up out of the audience and sat in the chair. The hypnotized individual then performed an exotic dance, and they were amazingly GOOD at it. Steve was the last to perform. I went up on stage, blushing hard, and sat in the chair while Steve gazed at me intensely. As soon as “I’m too sexy” started playing, Steve started dancing. I will have you know that Peter Schlong is QUITE the Chippendale. I think Steve found his calling.

We will be moving to Montreal shortly.

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Count with me…

One…

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Two…

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Three…

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Four…

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Five!

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One…

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Two…

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Three…

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Four!

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Uno…

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Dos…

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Tres…

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Cuatro!

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Aschi approves. I’m happy to say we did everything ourselves- the painting, the bambooing, the tiling, and help from Jordan on the wall. The only thing we didn’t do was install the carpet, which was done by some illegal aliens from New Jersey (THANKS, Home Depot).

We still have some finishing touches to do, such as putting up oak on the entryways and ceiling mouldings. Then the kitchen is next!

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fluffy

After seeing a poor cat dead on the side of the road..

Steve: Some little girl is probably crying right now because Fluffy didn’t come home.

Derrick: Or a 27 year old man.

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My emotional hangover

For better or for worse, it seems Silver bay people and experiences have branded themselves forever in my psyche. It takes approximately three days to recover from a visit with everyone. I gradually return back to my life and re-adjust, as if I was carried far downstream and have to swim my way back. The past three days had a feeling of persistent sadness and I kept checking my email repeatedly like something’s missing. Just when I thought I was going to have to resort to eating chocolates on the couch while watching The Big Chill, I begin to feel normal again. I emailed my girlfriends and asked if this was happening to them too. I received responses in record time from all of them, agreeing that recovering from a Silver bay get-together is hard.

I’m not sure what it is. It is not a wish to be younger again, because I am happy to be where I am and would not want to be 18 or 19 again, ever, even if you paid me a million bucks. It is not a wish for another summer at Silver Bay, because I love Steve and Vermont and our house here.

It feels as if it was that particular time in our lives and the place we were all in. Something about it heightened the creation of bonds and attachment between people. Similar to when we were infants forming attachments with our caregivers, perhaps it can happen again nearly as intensely when we first leave home. Or maybe it is a phenomenon that happens when neural synapses are fusing just as fast as they are dying off due to all the alcohol consumption of teens delirious with their newfound freedom. Something like that. It seems that when you form bonds like that, a piece of you is lost when everyone scatters by time and distance.

When everyone comes back together, it is a feeling of powerful, whole energy. Sometimes it is wonderful energy, sometimes it is anxious energy. The complexity of these bonds and what happened in them and to them over the last decade could fill a bookshelf (complexity can fill a bookshelf?).

Yeah, is that healthy? Is this a case of experiencing sensations in a phantom limb that was cut off long ago or is it something real? If I had it my way, I would prefer not to have so much investment that it takes me two or three days to recover from it.. But I simply cannot imagine life without these friends.

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Silver Bay wedding VI

Silver Bay wedding number six was at Penn State. (You can see Silver Bay wedding #3 and#5here). Since we now live further north, Steve and I took the ferry to Plattsburgh from Grand Isle. We hadn’t eaten breakfast yet, so we figured we would get something to eat at the snackbar while we waited at the ferry dock.

MURPHY’S LAW of FERRIES: The only time the ferry will IMMEDIATELY embark as soon as you arrive is when you actually WANT to wait for the ferry.

So we immediately got on the boat and immediately chugged across Lake Champlain. There were ominous skies on the New York side, and pretty soon we were in the middle of the most torrential thunderstorm I have ever driven in, forcing us to a slow crawl, as we tried to find a place to grab some breakfast. We eventually drove out of it as we headed south and then west.

Steve’s aunt and uncle, and their big collie, George, kindly hosted us on Friday. I mention George because I know he would be upset if he was not included in this entry. As we drove toward their neighborhood, we passed a car pulled over by a couple cops on the side of the road. The cops were searching the trunk of the car. The owner of the car was currently experiencing

MURPHY’S LAW of T-SHIRTS which states: If you so choose to don a t-shirt with a bold statement that is ASKING for it, you’re gonna GET IT.

While the cops searched his car, he stood morosely on the side of the road sporting black t-shirt with big bold white capital letters that read: FUCK YOUR POWER TRIP.

I’m still laughing about that one. I guess you had to be there.

Steve’s aunt and uncle took us out to dinner and a tour of Steve’s father’s boyhood hometown. This was really interesting and I was amazed at all the similarities between Steve’s and my own father’s family and childhood. Can the stories of our parents, told and untold, be passed down to the next generation? I feel that in some ways it does shape us profoundly, and is part of why Steve and I felt so familiar and comfortable with each other from the beginning.

We arrived at Penn State at midday on Saturday, and Steve, the good sport that he is, was swirled into the Silver Bay vortex for the next 24 hours. We watched as the last of the boys of summer bit the bullet, then it was dinner, drinks and dancing.

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There is a fine line between holding on and letting go, and for me at times this is an area of vulnerability and intensity that is out of proportion. I either hold on too tightly or I numbly let go or shut down. With Silver Bay in particular I went through both extremes. I am finally recognizing that fine line and am learning how to find it each time. I wonder at what a difference it would have made for my anxiety if I had always had that line and the comfort and self-assurance that comes with it. Some of the most important lessons we must learn the hard way.

It was a ten hour drive back to Vermont on Sunday, but fortunately we were able to stop and visit my friend Christina on the way back. I couldn’t wait because it means I would get to hold a baby- a craving that I hardly ever get to satisfy. She is my age and had her third child just a few weeks ago. This fact never ceases to amaze me. It is like trying conceptualize how subatomic particles are both everywhere and nowhere. My age. Has three kids. All objects are mostly space and would pass through each other if not for positive and negative charge. Does.. not.. compute.

However, they are an adorable family. And I got my baby fix!

A couple hours later Steve and I hit the road again. I was anxious to get back and get to sleep as soon as possible as I had work early in the morning.

MURPHY’S LAW of FERRIES: If you are anxious to get home ASAP, the ferry will leave TWO SECONDS before you arrive, forcing you to wait in Lane Number 1 and watch it fade away into the night.

Of course!

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Cool me down baby one more time

Just when I thought I was going to have to spend another day holed up in the bedroom blasting the AC while the Indoor/Outdoor temperature monitor in the living room reads 93.7 and 93.3 respectively, it has gotten mercifully cooler. I was crazy enough to do the tiling project last week in this heat- mixing glue and pounding nails into the backerboard, mixing more glue and putting the tiles down, then mixing grout and grouting the tiles. I was really frickin hot. I even sweated a bit, which Steve will tell you is a pretty rare phenomenon. We process heat very differently, Steve and I, despite experiencing the same temperatures. I might get flushed in the face with minimal to no perspiration, whereas Steve becomes a human sprinkler, spraying sweat in every direction.

I am realizing these days that I do not like heat or care much for summer unless I am at a rustic old cabin on a lake.

Aschi has taken to one of the cat toys- a shiny purple puffy boohbah foo-foo ball thingy. Aschi herself is a puffy boohbah foo-foo thingy, so I guess she thinks they have a lot in common. She likes to play with it and engage it in conversation when she thinks no one is around. I’ll hear her yowling in the other room and go to look and there she is, looking earnestly at the toy. Then she will pretend that she wasn’t talking with the toy. But I heard you, Aschi. I may have hearing aids, but it doesn’t mean I’m deaf. The other day she scampered across the floor (freshly bambooed) batting it around and tossing it up in the air. I managed to capture it with my camera.

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The photo is blurry and at odd angles because it is a rarely sighted phenomenon. Like Bigfoot.

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We lived to tell the tale

I bring you the pirate party, in color photos! By 7pm, I had made lots of salsa, the fridge was stocked to the brim, Steve accidently invited underage neighbors, and our living room was finally clear of tools and scraps of wood and tile.

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Casper Noodle, First Mate awaits the arrival of guests.
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The first to arrive was Piet, from Maine.
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Which costume deserves most recognition?

Authenticity…
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Cross dressing…
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Handmade cutlass’…
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Tattoos drawn by hand…
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Hey they went to the same party store…
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For those who did not wear costumes, punishment was swift and merciless. Steve prepares to use his cutlass…
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I would have more pictures of the rest of the guests, but I was not able to keep up with my camera and hold my drinks at the same time. All in all, it was a great time. Steve’s brew- Tough Aloft!, LVL ALT, and Black Spot- was well-received.

By 2 am, even Casper Noodle, First Mate was sleepy, despite all the people jamming with guitars and banjos on the deck.
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The aftermath of a pirate party cracks me up. The next morning, pirate hats, swords, and parrots were strewn about…
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bean supper

Josh: “You get one of those long tables, you know, the kind you use to have a bean supper.”

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Pillaging the high seas

Behold Steve’s ability to whip up an invitation like this in ten minutes!

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Tomorrow night is PARTY TIME. We have people coming from all over for this. Like Maine. And Vermont. Wait til you see the pictures.

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Futureman

Do you ever organize your digital pictures after they build up for months, and in the process of organizing, come across a curiously labeled picture that you don’t remember? I came across one called “futureman”. I didn’t know what it could be. So I was curious, and opened it.

Here’s the picture. Go ahead. Open it. Was that what you were expecting?

Possibly, in this picture, I have had a bit to drink. There are several reasons I have drawn this conclusion. 1) I don’t remember this picture. 2) The look on my face, the somewhat fuzzy happy look that means: Sarah is HAVING A GOOD TIME. 3) The background is RiRas in downtown Burlington. 4) I am posing with a stranger who is in his underpants. 5) Oh, and there’s a drink in my hand.

My best to Futureman, wherever he may be.

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