The dangers of Eugene O'Neill

I've decided to start volunteering at the Old Town School of Folk Music, and today I had a high-flying time (in reverse order) picking up trash, monitoring the ice bins, and serving beer.

I was quite popular at the beer tent, despite not knowing how to pour at first (pull the tap all the way--if you go part way, it'll be all foam). By the end though, I was serving up lovely little plastic cups of Bass, Rolling Rock, and some wheat beer of some sort. The only major faux pas--when you're working at a beer tent with a man whose name tag says "Ice Man", do not, I repeat, DO NOT make a quip involving the term "cometh" unless you wish to get a response along the lines of "it depends on the girl".

After that, I was left to monitor the ice bins, which entailed absolutely no ice, but a lovely conversation about teen pregnancy with a family practice doctor who was hanging out with her defibrillator. After that, the other team members and I hung out and talked for a little while; most of my conversations were with Katie, a dramaturg who lives just north of the Old Town School. Fun fact: Meredith isn't alone, everyone in the world thinks the guy who opened for the Mag Fields (Andrew Bird) is hot. The volunteer coordinator, when she bought a CD from him, even wrote "you're dreamy" in the memo section. I also had fun talking to a little 4 year old who REALLY likes blue, and found out her dad is a fellow escaped Oklahoman.

Then came trash pickup, where Katie and I talked more, and I found out our boss Shana, is not only working again tomorrow, but is also waking up at 7 to run 17 miles. Compared to this, waking up at 9 to get fruishi seems quite paltry.

Prolix, prolix, nothing a pair of scissors won't fix...

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