These are not belly dancers. Nor are they court reporters. They are my friends from Australia, helpfully stepping in in an illustrative capacity.
Today is turning out to be a super wonderful day. I negotiated for an ad space that normally costs $850, offered to one of the organizations I work for at $250, which was a most adrenaline inducing incident, if I may say so. I am a genius at this. Who knew? Also, today I am beginning to contemplate holiday plans that will not start to occur until after Thanksgiving (celebrating Christmas before Thanksgiving is holiday encroachment, and punishable by a night in prison or a hefty fine.) Visions of holiday baking, shopping, and caroling begin to dance in my head. Does anyone else feel, however, an odd sense that it's waaaay too early for Christmas? There's a radio station here in Buffalo that started playing Christmas music right after Halloween, and every time I skim past it and hear Feliz Navidad or some such, I get the strangest feeling, like someone is playing a practical joke. But, nonetheless, I love Christmas and can't wait to start celebrating, except yes I can, I can wait until after Thanksgiving. Okay then. Also, tomorrow is the first day that I will be observing rehearsals at a theatre I work for and it will be the first step of my ascendancy of learning the business of theatre and my road to fame and glory. This is a great day.
So, what I actually wanted to write about is this idea I've been batting back and forth. I take a belly-dancing class every Tuesday night (Dark Tower ladies, we need a reunion!) and there's this court reporting class that ends right about the time we're finishing our stretching and starting to go across the floor. So on any given Tuesday night, there are about five women, all wearing jingly coin belts, belly dancing across a yoga studio as these lovely court reporting ladies file past the window, nervously clutching their stenographers notebooks. Did I mention that before our class there's a bikram yoga class (a kind of yoga which is done in a very warm room) so the windows are completely steamed over. Does this not strike you as a scene ripe with comedic potential?
The trouble is, I took a class in Humor Writing when I was still in college, and it kind of ruined me for being funny in my written work. You know how when you have to explain to someone why a joke is funny, it ceases to be a joke? This was like four weeks of doing that to our own writing. Excruciating. So I have been unable, as of yet, to move forward with my belly-dancing stenographers sketch. But hopefully, someday, by watching enough 30 Rock, I will be able to recover my own intuitive wit, and bring this fantastic scenario to fruition. Stay tuned.
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