Dear Xena,
My last post was nothing like the note on the juice jug! And you should be aware that as a result of that note I became friends with the owner of the jug and we are still best friends today (though she likes to make cracks about keeping the indelible markers away from me when emotions are running high.) Anyway, my confessions weren’t even that bad.
So I will repeat them here:
1. When I first walked into my hotel, which is on frat house row in Toronto, I was seized with a certain sadness. This feeling had nothing to do with the 100 year old brownstone that’s been converted into a “boutique” hotel. It’s because when I first arrived in Toronto when I was 20, and I mean the first day, a frat boy barked at me and another girl when we walked by. I don’t mean that he spoke to us harshly. I mean that he barked. Like a dog. This was apparently supposed to signal to us that he did not find us attractive. That wasn’t nice and it confirmed my dislike of all things frat and all my assumptions about the soulessness of the entire greek movement.
But that’s not why I felt depressed. I couldn’t have cared less about some little barking frat boy. No, I felt sad because the barking memory reminded me that I miss Frank. Of course I also miss James, but at least I’m able to talk to him on the phone. Whatever other excellent qualities he may have, our dog is a lousy phone conversationalist. We’ve tried getting him on the phone but he mostly just pants. Like an obscene caller. (Also, the hotel was fantastically hot. Like a heritage sauna. And that also made me glum.)
So there. What’s so terrible about that anecdote? It’s not even that embarrassing, other than it suggests I wasn’t attractive to frat boys when I was 20. Well really, who would want to be attractive to frat boys, unless the boys in question are actually Luke Wilson, Vince Vaughn and Will Ferrell? It also reveals the information that James and I have tried to put our dog on the phone. But who among us hasn’t tried to put a pet on the phone at least once!
2. I can sort of see why you are concerned about the second anecdote, so I won’t go into details. Suffice to say that it finally happened. Someone actually threw up during one of my readings. I always suspected it was just a matter of time. I frequently look out at the audience and think: Oh, oh! Several of these people look on the verge! (My readings are VERY intense.) But the poor person. It must have been very embarrassing, even though it shouldn’t be. What’s most amazing is that no one’s done it before now! This has given me a lot of insight into how the people who made the Exorcist felt when people got sick during the first showings of that film. I realize that people are probably tempted to get sick during my readings for different reasons, such as heat and possibly even boredom, but still. It’s both a burden and a priviledge to have that effect on people. I take it very seriously.
Note to person: Don’t feel bad. Throwing up was practically a varsity sport in my crowd when I was a teenager. That’s how we knew you were “cool”. As I confessed in my first appearance on this tour, during the speech I’ve been asked never to give again, I used to do a terrific amount of it from ages 13 to 20. If you play your cards right, you may, like me, even end up with a career where you get to sicken other young people!
Note to Xena: People love going to events that make them throw up. For instance, carnival rides, Marilyn Manson shows, and experimental jazz concerts. I think I could make this work for me!
See you later,
Susan