I Work Better With An Audience: Thoughts on Life, Love, Food and Jiggly Bits PDF
Preview I Work Better With An Audience: Thoughts on Life, Love, Food and Jiggly Bits
Copyright © 2013 by Jennifer Inglis All Rights Reserved ISBN-13: 978-0615730004 ISBN-10: 0615730000 eBook ISBN: 978-1-63001-835-1 Disclaimer: I have tried to recreate events, locales and conversations from my memories. In order to maintain certain individuals’ anonymity, in some instances I have changed the names of individuals and places, and I may have changed some identifying characteristics and details such as physical properties, occupations and places of residence. Some dialogue may have been edited or condensed for pace. This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without expressed written consent of the author except in cases of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. www.jenniferinglis.com For my mother. Always. Table of Contents What Am I Doing? Abbondanza! Here She Is… Gypsies, Pants and Sleeves The Accidental Transvestite Maybe, Baby Feel The Burn The Clean Plate Club Get Off My Lawn A Duck, a Psychiatrist, and a Rabbi Walk Into a Bar… Party On Julia Child Is Spinning The Old Grey Mare Phobophobia The Great Outdoors Shop-o-Rama I Sing The Body Eclectic WWWWD? (What Would Wonder Woman Do?) Somebody Bring Me Some Cheese When Did I Become Obsolete? A Certain Jew Ne Sais Quoi About the Author Acknowledgements I would like to thank my many wonderful friends who came along with me on the journey of writing and putting together this book, including: Emily Tucker, Maggie Clennon Reberg, Nadine Gomes, Joni Crotty, Karen Gannon, Tawn Makela, Paul Taylor, Jennie Reinish, Naomi Gurt Lind, Holly Roberts, Laurie Hoffman Sjostrom, Laura Fiste, Alexander East, Stephanie Murphy, David Peryam, and Erin Inglis. Their encouragement and support was invaluable. A special thank you to Jean Gottlieb, who pushed me each step of the way to keep going and to believe in myself. I would not have finished this project without her. Thank you to my father and brother, who never once rolled their eyes when I said I was going to be a writer. Lastly, I would like to give a heartfelt thanks to the many, many funny women who have inspired me over the years. Too many to mention, you have all taught me that you can make people laugh and still be a lady. And to not trip over the punch line. What Am I Doing? More than several years ago, I was born. The particulars are a bit hazy, but I did arrive at some point, and the people around me were generally pretty happy about it. I’d like to say that I was born to European aristocrats or British intellectuals, but really, I just joined a couple of nice, regular folks who fed me, changed me, and gave me stuff to play with. All in all, not a bad deal. I was a very round, chubby baby (my “creases had creases,” my Mom used to say) with lots of dark curls. I always joke that the first word I ever uttered was not “Mama” or “Daddy,” but in fact, “Entenmanns.” True or not, I’m sure the next thing I said shortly thereafter was, “I have… concerns…” My father said I used to look around with my dark, serious eyes, as if I was thinking, “I’ve done this before…” I often felt old before my time, worrying about things that shouldn’t even cross the mind of the average kid. When I was in first grade, for example, my class went on a field trip to a local farm. Despite the sunshine and the weather reporter’s robust proclamation of a beautiful day, I insisted on going on the voyage armed with my raincoat, rain hat, and an umbrella. My reasoning? It could rain. “You just never know,” I said. “You just never know.” It became a way of life. Like most other kids, I wrote letters to Santa Claus. Unlike most kids, I wanted to send them certified mail. “Why?” my mother would say, “It’s not necessary, and it’s expensive. Just tape it to the front door. He’ll get it.” I was not deterred. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said. “What if the wind blows it away? What if someone else takes it? What if he doesn’t know to look for it here? We’re Jewish. Maybe I’m not on his list. You just never know.” To this day, I don’t know what my Mom did with that letter, but I did get the “Superstar Barbie” doll that I asked for, so we’ll call it square. It was a tough way to grow up. I was always afraid of something. There are kids who go through their childhood with abandon, running and jumping, scraping knees and going back for more. That wasn’t me. “I might fall.” “I might get lost.” “I might not be able to do it.” “I might get hurt.” “It might break.” “You just never know.” I spent a lot of time reading, which seemed a safe enough activity. I started very early, whether it was due to Sesame Street, being read to by my parents, or just a natural need to find out if there was something I was missing. I had a pretty good vocabulary for a little kid. Words such as “disenchantment,” “congregate,” and “engage” were early additions to my conversations. Some might call it precociousness. My Dad had a different take on my abilities: “It was kind of creepy,” he once said. “But I figured as long as you weren’t mentioning the words ‘Bell Jar’ or ‘Child Protective Services,’ we were doing OK.” Fair enough. Not surprisingly, my general disposition made it difficult to make friends. Not impossible, but challenging. I didn’t quite fit in with the other kids, and I always
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