The O-town Scene

277798 Due to overwhelming requests for informa- tion regarding FA&S (and by "overwhelming requests" I mean that Spouse asked what it is I do all day), here's how it goes: The column you are reading was submitted about a week ago. After sending it to Emily, the editor, I need a few days to reorient myself with current events as well as the ongoing Chris Christie situation beginning with the question: who, other than Robbie Robertson's parents, would name their kid Chris Christie? (Maybe Nicholas Nickleby's, but I'm pretty sure he's fictional.) And while I have enjoyed sharing space with the Herb Lady as well as with the Yoga Guy, I must say that, as a vegetarian, sharing a page with the meatloaf ad has added a dose of irony (and iron) previously missing from my column. Plus, being on the meatloaf page makes it easier for readers, like you, to find me. "Hey did you read FA&S this month? It's hysterical," I imagine one person asking. "No, but that column next to the meatloaf ad killed. So witty and urbane — I'm jealous," replies the other. "And such great placement. You couldn't ask for a better spot." Then, because my next column isn't due for a while, my left brain thinks: "You know, if you keep writing, you might actually get ahead instead of waiting until the last minute and then rushing out to get a massage on the off-chance that the masseuse will say or do something funny and thereby provide you with a column." My left brain. That's the boring one. My right brain, however, AKA: Awesome Brain, hears: "You are now free to squander loads of time before anyone asks you for any- thing." (Awesome Brain often contemplates "time" and "the squandering thereof" and remains proud of how my questionable cook- ing and imprecise cleaning skills have kept familial requests for my time to a minimum while my innate ability to locate misplaced items often brings me, heroically, back to real- ity. P.S.: the scissors were never missing; you just don't know how to look.) Sometimes I forget about a deadline until I change the calendar to a new month and besides, every day between now and D-day is a winding road. Not in a melodic Sheryl Crow way, more like a GWB with traffic kind of way. (Plus a Quebecian eating a 40-count box of Dunkin' Donuts Munchkins while talking on the phone, shaving and driving. True story.) Around mid-month, things become dire as I begin to question whether anything has recently happened to me that is noteworthy or will I have to draw upon my past? I may even have to schedule lunch and a yoga class or haircut or something in an attempt to gener- ate some mojo. (Besides, just because noth- ing has happened doesn't mean I shouldn't look or feel good.) And if there's still no story, I'll start digging. "What was the name of that high school gym teacher who looked like Lindsey Graham but dressed like Billie Jean King?" is an example of one of the many hard-hitting questions I may ask myself. (Answer: Juanita Fiesler; but still no story.) Of course, one must always be on the lookout for distractions. Distractions like the March 2014 issue of Vogue that, in an article about trapeze schools in New York, asks, am I game? I certainly am, but the big question is whether I will need a new outfit in which to float through the air with the greatest of ease? (newyork.trapezeschool.com.) And why don't they make decaf Dr. Pepper and call it "Physician's Assistant?" And why is my Beastie Boy poem not work- ing? When A Beastie Boy Dies When a Beastie Boy dies life becomes a hassle. You wanna drink tall boys in the lot at White Castle. Once a working draft exists, I continue to hone it by eliminating any extra, redundant, superfluous, additional or repetitive words and make editorial changes. For example, the decaf soda mentioned above was originally called "Hot Nurse" and the Quebecian driver was eating a bowl of cereal. The cereal was changed because in the rock, paper, scissors of comedy, Munchkins beat cereal and as for "Hot Nurse," I would totally drink it but it would have to contain more caffeine, not less. So, you see, it's not as if I sit around eating bon-bons all day. (a: I stand a lot, and b: "eat- ing bon-bons" is a cliche that will be cut from the final version and replaced with some sort of YOLO reference in an attempt to appeal to a more youthful demographic.) There's actu- ally a lot of thought that goes into being me. Well, there's a fair amount. Some. In conclusion, life is not all Bellinis and toast for breakfast. (It's mostly just Bellinis although sometimes it's merely champagne. Toast is for stomach bugs and hangovers and besides, YOLO.) And once in a while (or always), at 11:59PM on D-day, you have no choice but to tap "send," and walk away. (And hope that the meatloaf place is still in business.) Renee Nied writes about parenting, food, David Lynch and other impor- tant subjects from her home in Schoharie County at freshairandsarcasm. The Glamourous Life of a Columnist 6 O-Town Scene July 10, 2014 Fresh Air & Sarcasm By Renee Nied

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