I’ve come up with a name for the trailer: the Belafonte. I recently watched The Life Aquatic, a Wes Anderson film that I still can’t figure out if I actually like or not. The Belafonte is the name of the ship in the movie. Since I’ll never own a ship, I figured the trailer would suffice. Also my dog is named after the dog in the movie, so hopefully another connection to the movie won’t be overkill.
I received a package from my parents the other day. Among other things, they sent me a CD entitled “Soundtrack to a Mountain Adventure.” I racked my brain, trying to think of a movie called A Mountain Adventure. Turns out, there isn’t one. My parents made me a mix CD. And it. is. awesome. It starts out with none other than “Country Roads” by John Denver, then “Dueling Banjos,” “Thank God I’m a Country Boy,” “Foggy Mountain Breakdown”…you get the picture. Every song my parents had that had a banjo in it, they put on this CD. Then to mix it up a bit, there are some Zac Brown Band songs and Bob Marley. Needless to say, my parents are better than your parents.
My mother should be proud of me. Yes I am beautiful and smart and funny and awesome in every way and humble, oh so humble. But she should be proud because I went to church. (Meghan, go tell your mom. My confirmation sponsor should be proud as well. Well maybe not so much after reading the rest of my blog…) Hillsboro doesn’t have a Catholic church. What?! A town of 200 people and no Catholic church?! Pocahontas County has about 8000 people in it, so it’s no wonder that I had to leave my town to seek out my preferred (that’s not the word I want to use. I can’t figure out the exact word, but it is definitely not “preferred”)place of worship. So off to the great town of Marlinton. Marlinton’s Catholic church has about 50 seats, and on this Sunday, about 30 were filled. The music for the church was a guitar and a violin. The guy with the guitar messed up on the first song and it totally set the tone for the rest of Mass. The priest came in, a guy in his 50s and smiling like a fool: he loves his job. When he begins talking, I notice that his voice sounds oddly familiar. Then it hits me. Kip from Napoleon Dynamite. “Your mom goes to college.”
I wanna laugh more than anything in the world. But I’m sitting in the middle of Mass, so I somehow pull myself together. Then the rest of the hour was like going to Mass in Bizarro World. The priest mixed up the sequence of events and had to restart a prayer, then he had to read a script of the prayer that start “We believe in God the father almighty maker of heaven and earth blah blah blah or whatever.” I mean, I don’t consider myself a good Catholic in any way, except for the fact that I’m a fan of booze and I have a lace table cloth of the Virgin Mary hanging on my wall at the trailer, but even I know that prayer. Then during the “lord hear our prayer” stuff, people could just start talking and naming their own prayers. And the congregation would respond "lord hear our prayer" after people's outbursts. "Lord, watch over my Aunt Susie as she is having surgery tomorrow," "Lord, keep safe the people participating in Relay for Life this weekend," "Lord, please help me to keep my composure and not laugh at these crazy mountain Catholics and their hillbilly Mass," "Lord hear our prayer." And towards the end, there was major confusion about if we were supposed to be kneeling or standing. Then more confusion over coming up for communion. (Maybe it’s just me, but does anyone else ever get that sickening feeling in the pit of their stomach when walking up to communion: Oh shit, what am I supposed to say to the priest?! Thank you? Peace be with you? I do? That’s delicious? Our God is a great big God and a great big God is our God? For all you non-Catholics the answer is a simple Amen.)
After church, I drove the length of the Scenic Highway, WV 150. It goes through the Monongehela National Forest and around every bend I just yelling out the window “IT’S SO BEAUTIFUL!” Good thing there were no other cars on the road because I was too busy looking at the vistas to stay in my own lane. Eventually I just kept giggling to myself because I realized I live here. I’m not just here visiting for a weekend, or a week, but I actually LIVE here, at least for the next 5ish months. Be jealous.
Yesterday I watched Aladdin. Not the Disney version, what with it’s plot that makes sense and characters that are easy to follow. No I watched the Ballet Theatre South’s adaptation of Aladdin. For those of you who don’t know what that means, I was a ballet dancer for a long time and the company I belonged to in south Georgia was BTS. In the great year of 2006, BTS put on a production of Aladdin. And what a production is was. As I watched it yesterday, not understanding at all what was actually happening and writhing in pain every time I noticed that I hadn’t pointed my feet, I realized that I made my friends watch this shit in real life. To all of you poor souls out there: I am eternally sorry. Not only did you have to endure 2 hours of bad dancing, but there was not even a coherent story to follow. My God, were all our productions like this?! It’s a wonder I even had friends after that crap. And yet I did, and they were/are wonderful.
I’ve begun reading Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. Gasp! Megan’s reading a book by someone other than Pearl Buck?! Yes I am and I love it. She travels throughout Italy, India, and Indonesia in search of pleasure, faith, and a balance of the two, respectively. I totally want to go on this journey, except for the who faith part. I just want to eat Italian food. I wish the whole book was about food. But she’s a wonderfully entertaining writer, combining different aspects of her environment with her personal journey to learn more about herself and the world. Sometimes her writing reminds me of Bill Bryson, but only if he were an emotional, semi-pathetic, divorcee. That came out a lot harsher than I anticipated, but it’s the truth.
Speaking of Bill Bryson, I received the greatest compliment of my life in that my writing reminded my mother of Bryson’s. Maybe it’s because she created me, so it’s more a compliment to herself (Megan is awesome, and that’s only because she must have had awesome parents.) I in no way agree to the statement that my writing is good at all, but I will definitely accept that compliment. So thanks Mommy.
And if you don’t know who Bill Bryson is, then I’m prolly not friends with you, or at least I shouldn’t be. Google him. If you’re not gonna read any Pearl, for Christ’s sake, read some damn Bill.
Your parents aren't better than my parents, so ha!
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