Grudge Match

I play it fast and loose with my emotions. It is very easy to make me happy. Give me macaroni and cheese, laugh at my jokes, talk about Harry Potter, put on the YMCA and I will pretty much be on cloud nine. I get cranky more often than I would like, especially when I am lonely, tired, am in need of diet cola, or someone is being rude. Sometimes I make myself cry on purpose. I have a playlist simply labeled COLD...for when I am feeling emotionally wretched and really want to let loose the flood gates. I can get so bored that I fall asleep at very inappropriate times. I love people almost as fast as I can hate them. And I change my mind even faster. The one thing I am not often, is mad. But when I get mad, I get steamin' mad. It's an anger that erupts like a volcano and then settles back down to simmer, where it will linger 'til I die. Here are the things I am still mad about:

1. Nickle Allowance Scam of 1996
When I was 7 years old all my friends were receiving an allowance. Some kids got their allowance on Friday, or Sunday, or Monday...nobody got their allowance on a Wednesday as far as I knew. It was all anyone talked about on the playground, at lunch, or on the school bus. And I didn't have one. It was so annoying. I mean yes, my parents gave me money if I wanted to get ice cream or buy erasers at the school store. And yeah, they fed me breakfast, lunch, dinner and snacks. And took me to Disney World. And to see Pocahontas three times in theaters. But I had no cash flow. I was a total chump. My only source of income was from the Tooth Fairy from whom I received a very threatening letter if I ever tried to forcibly remove another tooth just to make a quick buck. So being the enterprising youngster that I was, I devised an intricate plan to convince my parents that I deserved an allowance.

I had just completed my first ever science project in which I presented to my 2nd grade class, Five Fantastic Facts About The Moon using the timeless medium of the poster board. My teacher, Mrs. Brink, gave me a + and a star sticker. I considered myself a presentation skills master after that and felt pretty confident that I could convince my parents to give me an allowance. But I was no good without a poster board. I sent my mother to Publix to pick one up for me and set about crafting my first pitch.

Using all the Magic Markers at my disposal I wrote down all the chores I would do in exchange for an allowance of one nickel a week. A NICKEL. For five cents a week I promised to clean my room, make my bed, sweep the kitchen, help water the plants, and bring in the paper every morning. For one lousy Jefferson. And my parents, in their infinite generosity, agreed. Having no concept of the value of money, you can imagine my displeasure when I learned that I would need 15 nickels to buy an orange soda at the pool. Which meant I had to do 15 weeks worth of chores. Unfortunately being the hard bargainer that I was, I had insisted my parents sign a contract, guaranteeing that I would receive a nickel allowance for an entire year. It was the hardest $2.60 I've ever worked for and it was total bologna.

2. Blankie in Exile
I sucked my thumb for quite a long time. Way to long. Until I was 10. But I could only suck my thumb when I had my blankie. My blankie was actually a red dress with a white ruffle collar and white ruffle sleeves that my Aunt Joanie had made for me when I was 3. I loved it so much. It had 2 giant ink stains on it from when I fell asleep drawing pictures of Happy Land (my imaginary world of escape) using my dad's "work pen." And it had patches all over it from various repairs. My parents tried everything to get me to stop sucking my thumb. But no amount of Tabasco sauce or bitter nail polish could make me to kick the addiction. Not while I had my blankie. And then one day, I couldn't find it. I searched high and low. I called all my friends in the neighborhood. I screamed at my siblings. I wept uncontrollably in my parents room and refused to go to bed until I found it. I was distraught. I cried and cried until I had exhausted myself into a fitful sleep in a laundry room basket. Every night that week I looked for my blankie. I even asked my mom if I could make flyers to put in my neighbors' mailboxes and hang up at school. I would lay in bed at night cursing my useless thumb. Eventually I settled into life without my blankie, I learned to tell myself stories when I needed comfort. And as with all pain, the ache slowly faded with time. Until one fateful game of Hide 'n Go Seek, many years later.

When we were little, me and my siblings loved to play Hide 'n Go Seek when my dad got home from work. The best games were when you found a hiding spot where dad couldn't find you. He was the master seeker. Some of the MVP spots included a dresser drawer, behind the TV, and my brother's favorite spot, the dryer. During this particular game, the stakes were high and I was determined to find the next MVP spot. I went into my parents closet and found a big plastic bag full of clothes. I planned to bury myself amongst the items for donations. I opened up the bag and let out a scream that should have woke the dead. At the top of the bag lay my blankie, the ink stains like gun shot wounds on the great protector of my youth. To this day my mother cannot describe the fury in my eyes when she found me in her closet clutching my long lost friend. Too much time had past and no matter how much I wanted to spite my parents, I could not get back to my old habits. Much to their chagrin, I took up biting my nails. And I shall never stop.

3. Oratory Interrupted
The Oratorical Contest at St. Jude was a big deal. An even bigger deal than then spelling bee. It was an annual event in which middle school students would be asked to write a 3-5 minute speech on the given topic for the year. All 6th, 7th, and 8th graders were required to write a speech and perform it for their Language Arts classes (character building or something.) Then the best speeches would be selected by the teachers and those students would get to do their speech for the entire school. First and second place of the school competition would get to go to the school district finals and from there...I can only assume fame and fortune. Talking for 5 minutes straight, no interruption, in front of an an audience was all I had dreamed of my entire life. I could not wait. I can't remember what the assigned topic for the 2001 contest was but I wrote my speech on Dorothy Day and I don't want to brag but I freaking killed it. I engaged the audience, I had them laughing, crying, applauding, I used the space, I remembered all my lines and closed it out with a bow to a standing ovation. If I knew what a mic drop was back then, I would have done it. All my classmates and teachers were singing my praises, it was the happiest I had ever been. Like happier than if my in-car microwave concept had become a reality. I was going to win, I knew it. I was going to win and I was going to get to perform my speech at the Fulton County Oratorical Contest. I was going to win and be in movies with Mary Kate and Ashley. This was my destiny.

I anxiously waited for the afternoon announcements and dismissal when they would declare the winner. Our principal came over the speaker. She congratulated all the participants, blah blah blah you are all wonderful. Honorable Mention goes to...Third Place...Second Place...First Place goes to...not Joanie Fisher. World shattered. Self-esteem crumbled. Life over. I will never amount to anything. Then volcanic eruption of anger. They picked that girl?! That. Girl. That skinny bee eye tee cee aych?! SHE COULDN'T EVEN REMEMBER HER SPEECH. SHE WAS CHEWING GUM. WE'RE NOT ALLOWED TO CHEW GUM AT SCHOOL. And that children is when I learned that life isn't fair. Or I don't know. Maybe her's was really better...but I doubt it.

4. Lord of the Rings Backyard Special
By the spring of 2002 I had seen Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring a whopping 4 times in theaters. I was obsessed. But I was also not allowed to see it any more times than I already had because a) my dad said it was a waste of money to see a movie 5 times and b) because it was not actually in theaters any more. It was that awful lag time between a movie's cinematic run and its release on VHS (DVD if you're fancy.) So to fill the now empty 3 1/2 hour blocks of time in my day I decided to stage my very own neighborhood version of Tolkien's masterpiece. Using our battered copy of Fellowship my best friend, Tara, and I wrote out an elaborate screenplay, assigning parts to all our neighborhood gang. I was playing Gandalf, Tara was Legolas, my sister Maggie was playing Strider (who we did not know was also Aragorn at the time...newbs) and her best friend Caitlin was Frodo. That was the extent of the "good guys"...gotta work with the talent you have. The boys of the neighborhood, namely my brother John, his best friend Matthew and his brother DA...played all the bad guys. It was an incredibly sophisticated production. We practiced for one whole day in our basement during which time I screamed at every cast member one hundred times for being total dummies. I also broke the yard stick I had been using as Gandalf's staff during the pivotal scene when he declares that the Balrog "shall not pass!" and had to tape it back together...twice. We were performing our show that Sunday evening in our backyard for all the parents. And as the director, I was incredibly nervous. But not so nervous that I couldn't eat multiple ice cream sandwiches before the curtain call.

Everything was going off without a hitch. People remembered their lines. The parents gasped at all the right parts. My death scene as Gandalf had been both terrifying and believable. We were nearing the end. The sun was setting as Frodo/Caitlin and Sam/Maggie (who had made a late appearance in the script when I realized somebody needed to go with Frodo to Mordor) were to make their dramatic exit around the corner of the house. I was hiding behind a tree watching the last of the play run out, preparing to make my directors speech and bask in praise. When all of a sudden from behind me came a terrifying crashing noise, caused by 3 teenage boys in soccer uniforms. It was Tara's older brother, Liam, and his 2 dastardly sidekicks. They tore through my set yelling "Oooohh I'm an Orc, I'm an Orc!" Uncontrollable rage ripped through me as I chased after them, brandishing my broken yardstick. I demanded justice from the parents. I received none. Unless you consider an "apology" justice. You ruined my play Liam. And that is why I slapped you that one time.

Benjamin Franklin once said "Anger is never without a reason, but seldom with a good one." These are all good ones. I might let them go someday. I probably already have. Or I might spend the rest of my life plotting my revenge.

Childhood Dreams: A Rebranding

Growing up, we all have a lot of dreams. Some of them practical, I want to be a doctor type of stuff. Some of them fantastical. Some dreams stay with us, I want microwaves to come standard in all motor vehicles. And some fade away. Here are some dreams I've dreamed and some I'm still dreaming.

1. A Walk To The Pool
Turning 10 years old is a big deal in any child's life. Double digits. Maximum use of all fingers to emphasize age. But for me the best thing about turning 10 was that I was finally allowed to be at the pool without parental supervision and more importantly it meant that I could walk to the pool. For 6 years I watched the cool older kids saunter in the pool gate, towels draped over their shoulders, tivas thwacking arrogantly on the damp concrete. The only time they acknowledged their parents was when they need $.50 to get an orange soda from the cola machine. They were awesome. They also, it turned out, lived a few houses down from the pool. Me and my gang lived a good mile away from the pool and boy were we in for a rude awakening the summer of our 10th year.
To be honest, I kind of cheated the 10 year rule. My birthday is at the end of August  and all my other friends turned 10 earlier in the year. I begged my mom to let me walk to the pool that first Saturday in May with all my other buddies. My mother tried to warn me. It's a very long walk, she said. There are a lot of hills and it's very hot. "What. Ever. Mom." I said, throwing the full weight of my nearly 10 year old sass at her. I told her I would die if my friends got to walk to the pool and I had to ride in the suburban like a baby. It wasn't my dramatics that made her relent so much as it was me promising to weed the entire garden if she let me go (a nickel allowance scam if I've ever seen one...but that's a story for another day).
I was so excited. All the big kids in the cul-de-sac were meeting at 9 AM. I had picked out my best Disney towel and shined up my jellies (rookie mistake), my day had come! We set off, a pack of joyful youths, frolicking in the Georgia sun and we arrived, straggling in one by one, beaten by the great mountains of the neighborhood, zapped of our strength and eyes streaming from the sunscreen that had melted from our faces. And there stood our mothers, triumphant.
As we got older, our legs grew and the distraction of boys we had crushes on made the journey to the pool easier. But heavy lies the burden of dreams come true.

2. Monopoly, Victorious
As everyone can agree, Monopoly is the absolute worst board game in the history of the universe. It is infuriating and never ending. I have always been very competitive about very inconsequential (but important) things. Who knows the most Harry Potter trivia, who can recite the Gettysburg Address, who won the St. Jude Award...the list goes on. So naturally I always wanted to win Monopoly. My strategy was always, and remains, the same, buy all the railroads and Atlantic Avenue. The number of times I was sent to jail coincidentally coincided with the number of times I was sent to my room. Now that I am older, I know to excuse myself when I feel the all too familiar flush of competitive heat creep up to my face, but as a kid that is a hard emotion to contain. I have yet to win a game of Monopoly (but who has...seriously who? If you've won Monopoly I need you to contact me immediately) and so the dream lives on.

3. Moaning Myrtle
I wanted to be an actress so bad when I was younger but I never wanted to put in the effort. I just wanted someone to stumble upon me in the grocery store, you know in Publix, where all young talent is discovered. I figured an agent would see me trying to convince my mother of the nutritional benefits of Waffle Crisp over Cheerios and say "You, little girl! You are perfect. Be in my movie. Become a star!" Though I would resent being called a "little girl" I would accept and jet off to Hollywood to meet my destiny.
My acting frenzy reached its zenith between the first and second Harry Potter movies. Because the role of Hermione had already been filled there was only one role left for me to play, Moaning Myrtle. I would practice in my room into the wee hours of the morning, reading out lines from Chamber of Secrets, perfecting my Myrtle. I wanted the role so badly that I even attempted to audition. I still don't know how the whole "Hollywood" thing works but I'm pretty sure the way you get the role of Moaning Myrtle in Harry Potter is not by auditioning for a small part in the YMCA production of "Steel Magnolias." That audition went so horrendously that the only thing I remember is there was a girl sitting next to me wearing an Aeropostale sweatshirt...I didn't know what Aeropostale was so I assumed she was foreign and that Aeropostale was American Eagle in her country.
The sting of that failed dream, doomed by laziness and also an ocean, was made all the sharper by the later revelation that the lucky actress who played Moaning Myrtle was in fact a 37 year old grown up lady. I'm coming for you Shirley Henderson.

4. God Grant Me Braces, Acne, and Glasses
When I was growing up I idolized my older cousins, like, I was obsessed with them (I still idolize them...but in a normal way). I wanted to do everything they did, wear everything they wore and say everything they said. I wanted to grow up and be just. like. them. They had braces, I wanted braces. They had acne, I wanted acne. They had glasses, I wanted glasses. My older cousins were the cat's pajamas. What most pre-teens dread, I could not wait to encounter.
I didn't have to wait too long for the acne...but braces and glasses...I was not that "fortunate." During pre-Algebra I used to unbend paper clips, bend them in to the shape of a retainer and put them in my mouth to make it look like I had braces. I fooled no one and cut my gums too many times to count. The glasses I took care of in 10th grade. I simply cheated on the eye exam by pretending I couldn't read the letters on the board. And I've been paying the piper ever since.

5. A Water Bed
I think water beds were a big deal in the late 80's and early 90's...don't quote me. So right around the time I was making my way in to my big girl bed. The dream of the water bed didn't hit me until I started watching reruns of Growing Pains in 1996. I wanted a water bed for a multitude of reasons, Mike Seaver being the instigator but not the most important. My desire for a water bed stemmed from three areas, fear of dying in a fire, fear of being kidnapped and fear of not being suave enough to be Mike Seaver's girlfriend.
I had, and continue to have to this day, a very deep fear of natural disasters. When I was 7, I was petrified of dying in a house fire. I was so scared of fires that I slept as close as possible to the door of my bedroom so as to allow me to escape as fast as possible. This fear followed me to college where I made my roommates time me to see how long it would take me to get out of our loft and out to the safety of the quad before our dorm burned down around us. The water bed was the perfect last resort for me. I thought if I had a water bed, in the worst case scenario should a fire start in my room, I would be able to unzip the bed, get in the water and wait for help to arrive. I did not understand the physics of the water bed at that time (or now for that matter).
The water bed also provided the perfect anti-kidnapping device. Piranhas. I would fill my water bed with piranhas and should nefarious persons try to do me injury, I would unleash the fury of my lethal aquarium upon them. No harm would come to me, for the piranhas would recognize me as their master and the villains would flee in abject terror.
And finally, Mike Seaver was the cutest, neatest guy I had ever set eyes on (at the age of 7). And when he grew up, he moved in to his parents garage and had a water bed. He was the ultimate adult.

6. President Of The Gumball Factory
I was obsessed with bubble gum when I was younger. And everybody knew it. Not only because I always had it on me but also because I chewed it really really loud. I chew bubble gum like it's going out of style. Like it's going the way of the Twinkie but never coming back. I loved it some much that when one of my siblings ate my gum without my permission, I called an emergency family meeting to discover the culprit (I think the error here is on my parents for allowing me to initiate the witch hunt.)
Long car trips is where I used to dream my biggest dreams and...along with developing an in-car microwave...I wanted to own a gumball factory. But not just any gumball factory. A gumball factory that produced one of a kind, hand painted gumballs. The finest gumballs in all the world. The workers would get shrunk down to gumball painting size by a shrink ray, work their eight hour shift (9-5 baby) and then be un-shrunk in time to be home for dinner with their families. And that is the dream I will never let go of, to be the sole owner of the world's foremost gumball factory.

The astute follower may have noticed that I changed the name of my blog. This blog is about the things I like to think about and the things I like to remember. Making people laugh makes me happy. Growing up is tough and sometimes the world feels rather heavy but I think we'll all be okay if we try to be kind, work hard, and have some laughs along the way.

A Thousand Laps or A Mile?

In my youth, whenever I did something particularly wretched instead of being sent to my room or put in time out my parents had me run laps around our house. The laps can probably be pinpointed to the time my mom gave me a five-minute time out and I sassed her saying I didn’t care because I would just tell myself a story.

Let me be clear, now that I am grown and have learned all there is to learn about life, I’m glad my parents made me run laps. What a wonderful opening to a sports movie this would be if I had grown up to be an Olympic Marathoner. Although I am no Olympian, I tell you this, my children will run laps, their children will run laps, and a millennia from now my offspring’s, offspring’s, offspring will be doing laps on the moon.

Here follows a list of my grievances and their corresponding laps.

Offense: Eating unauthorized snacks outside the kitchen

Punishment: 3 laps

My favorite thing to do is also my greatest vice. I love to snack. Not just snack though…I like to lounge and snack. There is no greater joy to me than kicking back with a cold soda and a granola bar/cookies/cheez its/etc in a place not initially designed for eating to occur. When I was younger I used to like to take breaks from my hectic adolesence by sneaking some kind of treat and soda up to my room and enjoying it while reclining on my inflatable purple chair in my room. However it was (actually technically still is) against the rules to eat food outside the kitchen in the Fisher household. And it was extra against the rules to eat snacks that were specially bought for school lunches. So anytime I got caught eating outside the kitchen (which was everytime) I had to run laps around the house. This was a minor offense and usually I was only sentenced to about 3 laps which is the maximum amount of laps I would run without walking at the strategic corners where I thought my mom couldn’t see me walking (I was wrong). If I got caught walking it added an extra lap.

Offense: Use of Foul Language

Punishment: Laps dependent on word used. Also, soap in mouth.

This one is pretty self explanatory…get caught saying a bad word…you’re gonna be runnin’ kid.

S words-3 laps

B words-4 laps

F words-5 laps

GD-6 laps

Offense: Sneaking TV on a school night

Punishment: 5 laps if regular TV. 6 laps if MTV.

No TV on school nights was a hard line in the Fisher family in my day. I say in my day because my inside sources (my sisters) have revealed to me that the lockdown on weekday media has somewhat lessened of late. And in all fairness my sisters are much better at math than I was. Anyway, we were not allowed to watch TV on school nights but occasionally beautiful windows of opportunity would present themselves where I could sneak 20 minutes here and there. Like when my mom would go running and leave me in charge…or when she would go to the grocery store and leave me in charge. The second my mom left I would run to the basement turn on the TV really low and sit as close to it as possible all while being on high alert for the sound of the garage door opening signaling the return of my mother. You will note that I was not on high alert for cries of distress from the younger siblings of whom I was supposedly “in charge of”… As with my snacking I got caught 98% of the time I tried to sneak television. The time I got caught watching MTVs Real World I had to run an extra lap (but it was Real World Paris so it was WORTH IT)

Offense: Lying about having to watch TV on a school night for a school project.

Punishment: 8 laps. Dear America books taken away for a week.

One time when I was around 9 I told my mom I HAD to watch an episode of “The Secret World of Alex Mack” for a school project. I came up with the incredibly elaborate lie that my 4^th grade teacher Mrs. Costello wanted my class to watch the show to learn more about acting in order to prepare for the class play we would be putting on the following month. I even went so far as to make up a fake certification slip that my parents had to sign to show that I had in fact watched that night’s episode. Luck was not on my side that day…apparently despite my Mavis Beacon typing skills there is a distinct difference in writing style between a seasoned 4^th grade teacher and a conniving 9 year old. I had to run 10 laps for that bungled attempt at deception. Running anything over 6 laps was always tricky. I had a neighborhood image to maintain and I looked like a real looney tune running circles in my yard. So whenever I had to run an excessive amount of laps I would pretend like I was playing tag with my siblings...making sure to yell out as I turned a corner something like "Stop cheating! Mom, Maggie's cheating!"

Offense: Refusal to clean the basement.

Punishment: 10 laps. Have to clean by myself.

My basement in Atlanta was awesome. It was just one wide stretch of carpet that spanned the entire length of our house. It was filled with every toy imaginable for ages 10 and under. Legos, Lincoln logs, hot wheels, Fisher-Price kitchens, play houses, dolls, dress up clothes, wiffle ball bats, super soakers, oh how the list goes on….And it was also always an enormous disaster. Twice a year my siblings and I would have to do a massive cleaning and organizing blitz on our basement wonderland and it SUCKED. Twice a year we would cry and beg to not have to do it and twice a year my dad would say “Fine, then we’ll just throw everything away.” That threat usually got me cleaning real fast until my 8^th year when I had truly refined the art of argument and manipulation. I decided that it was unfair that, I a mature 8 year old should have to clean the basement alongside my little siblings (they made most of the mess anyway.) So instead of cleaning I delegated tasks to all my siblings. Johno was on block and vehicle detail. Maggie was on weapons (of the nerf variety) and video collection. Maryanne was in charge of dress-up organiztion…which was pretty ridiculous because she was two. Lizzie, my youngest sister was not born yet, which means there were still chores to be done and I certainly wasn’t going to do them. So I snuck out the basement door and went to tell my friends playing kickball in the cul-de-sac that if they didn’t come help us clean they wouldn’t be allowed to come over and play anymore. And that is where my plan unraveled. There were too many cooks in the basement. My parents came down to find half the neighborhood tidying the basement with me sitting on the play house dictating from on high. They sent everybody outside (including my brother and sisters) and made me clean the rest of it by myself. I even had to vacuum! Then I had to run 9 laps. Which effectively blew the lid off of my “playing tag” charade since my siblings were playing SPUD with everybody else on the driveway. I was clearly just running in circles by myself. That was the most laps I ever had to run…until my deepest shame, the worst thing I ever did.

Offense: The Worst Thing I Ever Did

Punishment: 1000 laps

When I was 10, my parents were out of town and my grandmother had come in to watch the five of us. They had also hired a babysitter to come in and help on the weekend to watch “the little girls” (Maryanne and Lizzie) while my grandma shuttled “the big three” (Me, John, and Maggie) to our various sporting events. This was during the artist phase of my life. I had gotten a set of acrylic paints for my 10^th birthday whilst in the throes of an artistic fever that lasted a total of 3 weeks. It was a rainy afternoon and at a loss of what to do I decided to take up the old brush again. However I couldn’t find a paintbrush…or canvas…so like any good artistic prodigy I created my own tools. I decided to create a haunting memorial to my youth by finger painting a self portrait and signing it with my handprints…on the wall of my closet. I then proceeded to make one helluva a mess in the bathroom while trying to wash my hands. I of course abandoned the mess and went outside to play the second the sun came out. Later that day my grandmother discovered the mess and gathered the big three together to ask who had done it. I said it was Maryanne. My grandmother believed me (probably because I was named after her and Joan’s don’t lie)…and fired the babysitter, assuming it was neglect on her part for allowing a 3 year old to get into acrylic paints. I held onto my lie for about 12 hours with the guilt eating me alive. After stress eating two waffles at The Waffle House I finally came clean. My grandmother’s disappointment was heartbreaking and the apology call I had to make to the babysitter was mortifying but the anticipation of how many laps I was going to have to run when my parents heard about this was an all consuming dread. That Sunday when my parents returned, after the family meeting, my parents doled out my punishment. I could run a thousand laps around the house or go run a mile with my dad. I picked the latter. The next morning, at 5 AM my dad woke me up and I ran with him all the way to the “top of the neighborhood.” It was the first time I ever ran a mile. I would never have to run laps again. Because after my great shame I was perfect. Just Kidding. The next year I stole a pack of gum from Publix.

An Open Letter to Mr. JJ Abrams

Dear Mr. Abrams,

Let me begin by congratulating you on receiving the illustrious honor of directing the first episode of the third Star Wars Trilogy. Second let me commend you on your numerous past cinematic triumphs and applaud the masterpiece that is the television series LOST. Now to my point sir. Here follows... 

The 10 Reasons I Should Be In Star Wars: Episode VII-IX

1. Mo' Money Mo' Problems...Less Money Less Problems

I'm cheap! I'm not the Hollywood elite, I'm not even Hollywood garbage. I don't have a slew of commercially successful RomComs or a couple of ironically adorable Indies on my resume. My headshot is a creepy selfie I took the time I thought my eyes looked green. You can hire me at what can only be described as "the bargain of the millenium" because I think being able to make five stacks of ten quarters is hitting the jackpot. And you know what that means...MORE MONEY FOR SPACE EXPLOSIONS AND LIGHTSABER DUELS!

2. Ambassador of the Franchise

I love ALL the Star Wars movies. I love the original original trilogy. I love the various incarnations of the original trilogy since then. I love the prequels. I love that people think I'm not a true Star Wars fan for loving the prequels (whatever losers I love a prolonged background story!) I love them on VHS, in theaters, on DVD, BluRay, rented on iTunes, and on the Force of July Marathon on the Spike television network. And I LOVE that Star Wars will be a trilogy of trilogies. A TRILOGY. OF TRILOGIES. That is SO Star Wars. And I love that.

3. Widows Peak

The women of Star Wars (and somtimes the men...waddup Padawan braid) are known for their ridiculous hairstyles. Namely, Princess Leia's cinnamon bun headphones. Padmae had no distinctive coiffure but I think we can all agree that she consistently looked stupid. I have a widows peak which is a built in iconic Star Wars hairstyle with none of the fuss or extensions.

4. Powerful Emotional Range

As solid as digital Yoda and Samuel L. Jackson's acting was in the prequels I think we all wanted to hang ourselves whenever Hayden Christensen tried to act outside the range of smiling and prophetic nightmares. Since I'm gunning for a lead role I want to make it clear that I can turn it on. You want me to cry? I'm already crying. You want me to turn it off? I just stopped.

5. Stereotyping

Some "actors" might be wary of joining the Star Wars empire (LOLz get it geeks?!) for fear of being stereotyped forever as a jedi, sith lord, puppet alien, etc. Those actors are stupid. I have no problem being known for the rest of my life as that "clever, witty pseudo actress with a powerful emotional range who played the first female head of the Jedi order and then did a couple of moderately lucrative Disney animated features before she fell off the face of the Hollywood sign." Bring on obscurity.

6. Fisher

Carrie Fisher is my cousin. No she's not. But I do have cousins. Lots of 'em! Mixing fact and fiction. See what a good actress I am even in my blog!

7. Fat/Skinny/Not Blonde

Whatever look you need for this Tril you got it. Need me to be fat. I've had that dream diet prepared since 6th grade when I used to fantasize on family roadtrips that our car had a microwave so I could make fresh Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. Or is my character an emaciated detainee from the last garrison of the crumbling Empire? I'll make Anne Hathaway look like a chump. I'll feast on my dreams and nothing else for six months. However I do draw the line at blonde. I'm not being stubborn, just trying to save the aesthetic look of the franchise.

8. No Sleep 'til Coruscant

As previous blog posts will detail...I don't really sleep. I will literally film Episodes VII, VIII and IX straight through. In fact that would probably be preferable so if people hate me (which they won't...I'm incredibly charming) it will be too late.

9. You Like Me! You Really Like Me!

When I inevitably become the first Star Wars actor to win an Academy Award for Star Wars (Best Supporting Actress OR Best Actress...depending on how big a role you want to give me) I swear on my first edition Harry Potter collection (whoa crossing genres!) that you will be the first person I thank. And if I defy all the odds and win ANOTHER Oscar for a different movie, I'll thank you first again! In fact, anytime I thank anyone for anything...I'll thank you first. Example: "Well first I must thank JJ Abrams...and thank YOU for passing the nachos!"

10. BYOL? IAOAL! (IPTSMGMARO)

Bring your own Lightsaber? I already own a Lightsaber! (It's plastic though so maybe give me a real one).

I appreciate your consideration and eagerly await your response. May the force be with you.

J. Fisher

A Beginners Guide to Surviving the Apocalypse

I have one doozy of a fascination with one of my deepest fears: apocalyptic disasters. You know what they say…keep your friends close and your enemies closer…and unpredictable nature is definitely my foe. I have watched every documentary on Netflix concerning the predictions of Nostradamus, the Mayans and former Vice President Al Gore. I know more about volcanoes, tornadoes, blizzards and solar storms than your average 23 year old probably should. If you checked my Google/Wikipedia history you would find searches for prehistoric disasters like the Cretaceous-Paleogene Extinction Event (killed the Dinosaurs!) as well as the origin of zombies (and apparently a lot of stuff about Notre Dame...and pancakes.)

As a child my fear of catastrophes was limited to house fires and thunderstorms. I was resourceful so I demanded family fire drills once a month (touch the door knob to make sure its not hot…then run outside and wait by the mailbox until firefighters arrive…leave American Girl dolls behind) and made sure to sleep on the side of the bed closest to door in order to make a quick escape. My obsession with the end of the world obviously began with the great Y2K fiasco of 1999. In this great modern era where technology and information are happy bedfellows I have learned of a multitude of ways in which our universe could through a temper tantrum that would lead us to our untimely end…and you better believe I have made preparations far past what side of the bed I slumber on (although it is always wise to sleep nearest to the exit.)

Here’s the thing, I’m okay with dying in an apocalyptic event…as long as I have done everything in my power to try and survive it first. If mother earth is hit by a large meteor, asteroid, comet or other celestial object and despite my UV sunglasses, Captain America shield, and duct tap…I still go up in smoke with the rest of the planet…I’ll be cool with that. I did by damndest. But so help me if the polar ice caps melt and I drown because I didn’t make room in my cabinet for a raft. So I present to you my friends A Beginners Guide to Surviving the Apocalypse in the hopes that when our darkest hour approaches we remembered to put a flashlight in the downstairs bathroom and see each other on the other side. I left out the obvious stuff like food, blankets, firewood, copies of the most important contributions to literature (Harry Potter) because if you don’t know that already I can’t help you and you probably wouldn’t last very long anyways.

Zombie Apocalypse

Lets get one thing straight: Zombies are gross. And like all gross things such as cockroaches and vicious rumors, zombies are darn hard to kill. My extensive research has revealed that the only way to kill a zombie is by destroying its brain. In the event of a Zombie apocalypse, most likely caused by a mutant strain of vegetable ingested by the “health conscious” of our society (I made that up), you will want to have a crow bar, gasoline, matches, and if you’re crafty…an Egyptian obelisk. The crow bar is for one on one combat with a zombie, you simply need to get a height advantage over the grody creep and greet its decaying skull with the swift fury of your L-shaped iron sword. If you are confronted with a mob of the undead, fear not for the benefit of a zombie apocalypse is that zombies are notoriously stupid and slow (don’t get cocky and start calling it a Stupid-pocalypse…the cocky ones are always the first to go.) Cover those lolly-gaggers in petrol and light ‘em up. The heat of your homemade inferno will melt their brain thus rendering them harmless…though I imagine it will cause one hell of a stink. Egyptian obelisks are said to have mystical properties that ward off the living dead so if you have the where-with-all to acquire one you might not even know a Zombie Apocalypse has struck.

Yellowstone Super Volcano

Since 2008 geologists at Yellowstone National Park have been closely monitoring the rise and fall of the Yellowstone Plateau. These geo-nerds discovered that from 2004 to 2008 the floor of this plateau had risen 8 inches. Why you ask? For beneath the scenic tranquility of our beloved national park lurks…a SUPERVOLCANO! Yellowstone has erupted three times in the past 2.1 million years, the most recent occurrence a measly 640,000 years ago! And all five supervolcano documentaries I have watched agree that Yellowstone will blow again. So how does one prepare for an explosion 2,500 times greater than the 1980 eruption of Mt. St. Helens? First, be aware of the blast zone…if you live west of the Mississippi you’re dunzo. Everybody else collect the following: goggles, shovel, more gasoline, twinkies. The goggles are to protect your eyes from the sulfuric rain that will fall as a result of the enormous ash cloud that will blanket earth. The shovel is to dig your way through the tons of ash that will fall as result of aforementioned ash cloud. Lots o’ stuff falling from the sky in this apocalypse. Oh, almost forgot the twinkies. First they taste good. Second they have an incredibly long shelf life so if you get “ashed” in you should be okay for at least a thousand years…depending on if you go to Costco or not. Your call.

Asteroid Apocalypse

Apparently there’s no way to escape an apocalyptic asteroid. The top nerds at NASA (and my brother) tell me that as of right now no technology exists that could prevent an asteroid from colliding with Earth once its trajectory is set…which it will be…like billions of light years ago. Not even Bruce Willis, a nuclear bomb, and a kick ass soundtrack could help us. I suggest buying a seat on those moon rockets by Virgin Galactic in the hopes that they’re ready to go in time…and then try really hard not to turn into those fatties from Wall-E. However if you don’t have the spare $100 million lying around (the going rate I am told by my sources at Space Booking) grab a 6 pack of Shock Top End of the World (PRODUCT PLACEMENT!), gather ye loved ones and throw our beloved planet a going away party for the ages (see my next guide There's So Much Left To Do: Party Planning for the Apocalypse)

Time Travel Paradox

If you are reading this blog and considering traveling back in time please take a moment to seriously consider the ramifications of altering the space-time continuum. If you are the Doctor, I live in Carbondale, please come pick me up. If you do not understand that reference than there is a part of me that you will never truly know. 

If the end of the world is truly upon us I say bring it on. We’re not dinosaurs.

Put On Your Lazy Shirts

Waltz of the Insomnia Blues

What I do When I Can't Fall Asleep...

(because I am scared)

Firstly, and most rationally, I check that my door is locked and the latches on my windows are shut. Then I grab my car keys and put them on the window ledge next to my bed in case I need to make a quick get away. I settle myself into my ring of strategically placed protective pillows and begin the Waltz of the Insomnia Blues. And it goes a little somethin' like this:

1. Tweet (@superjoanie23)

You may notice that if I tweet late at night its usually in rapid succession and focused around something I find comforting...whether it be food, Meryl Streep, or my grand plans to "work out" in the morning. This form of tweeting is the electronic version of somebody trying not to psyche themselves out.

2. Blog (doy)

Guess what I'm doing right now?!

3. Try to figure out the background music used in trailers that I like

Two of my proudest discoveries were "PM's Love Theme" from Love Actually which was used in the UK trailer for The Young Victoria and "Quest for Glory" by Q-Factory featured in the second trailer for The Lorax. Currently I am trying to figure out what the music is at the end of the trailer for Cinderella II: Dreams Come True. It's a real doozy

4. Double check that I know the proper way to use "its" and "it's"

For your information "its"is the possessive pronoun and "it's" is the contraction for "it is." I'm going to have to spell check this blog post real good or I will look like a class A jerk!

5. Attempt to read A Confederacy of Dunces for the millionth time.

A book I feel like I should really enjoy but have never been able to read past chaptero uno. I have 3 copies of it. One I bought at the Borders Going Out of Business Sale, one I "inherited" from the Massachusetts Public Library system and one I downloaded onto my e-reader.

6. Regret my decision to buy a NOOK

Curse myself for letting the sales person at Barnes and Noble seduce me with her song and dance routine about the magic of tablet reading...And then curse me again for convincing myself that I would just buy it now and come back tomorrow to return it. Well tomorrow's come and gone and I've saddled myself with what can only be described as an extremely expensive ongoing game of Sudoku.

7. Review my finances in an attempt to bore myself to sleep

8. Look up quotes from The Princess Diaries and try to mimic all the characters.

When The Princess Diaries first came out I was in the throes of two major life events. The first being that I was dead set on becoming an actress, a star of stage and screen, the darling of Hollywood...the second and far more terrifying...I was a pre-teen. You can ask any of my friends or family from that time in my life and they will tell you...from the ages of 11-14 I was a complete nightmare...hell in a hand basket...God's fury unleashed on a small quadrant of the South. The Princess Diaries was the epitome of everything I wanted when I was 12 years old which was of course to be an actress in a successful Disney movie as well as the long lost heir to an obscure European throne. About an hour after seeing TPD I had a complete melt down at my kitchen table, crying inconsolably that life was so unfair. And here I am 10 years later dreaming the same dreams.

9. Make lists:

Stupid Movies (that I also own on DVD because I love them) with Great Trailers 

Pearl Harbor (Original Teaser Trailer)

Legend of the Guardians

Transformers 2: Dark of the Moon

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (The Teaser)

Planet of the Apes: Rise of the Apes

Top 5 Favorite Foods Listed A-E

      A. Publix Subs

      B. Popcorn and M&Ms

      C. Spongebob Macaroni and Cheese

      D. Spinach and Artichoke Dip from Houlihans

      E. Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Ice Cream

Some Reasons Why NASA Should Hire Me

      1. Public Relations. Sometimes you gotta help the space nerds out!

      2. I am very familiar with the intricacies of manned space flight due to sheer number of times I have seen the movies Armageddon, Apollo 13, and The Right Stuff.

      3. Have created 5 Phase Plan (over a 3 year time interval) to reinvigorate our nations youth with the passion for space travel. Complete with slogan for commercials, swag, and twitter trends. #InspiringTomorrowsAstronautsTodayWithTheHeroesOfYesterday

10. Try to decide how to introduce my future children to Harry Potter

Option 1) In utero. 

Option 2) On his (I say his because I plan on only having sons! Just kidding…sort of.) 10^th birthday give him my original Sorcerer’s Stone. On the inside cover (underneath "Property of Joanie Degnan Fisher" and my autograph) I will inscribe " Son, ALWAYS remember...with great power comes great responsibility." This serves a two-fold purpose. First it shows my son that I am entrusting him with his own Harry Potter education, thus instilling in him at a young age a sense of purpose and duty. Second, when he is older and has finished his own journey with Harry Potter, he will see that just as Severus Snape always loved Lily, I will always love him...even when he marries a woman I deem not good enough.

Option 3) Give him Sorcerer's Stone on his 10^th birthday but DONT trust him to be able to capture the magic of Harry Potter on his own. Which of course means I will release the Harry Potter books to him on the time frame that I read them. (He gets 1,2 and 3 right away...then has to wait for 4,5,6, and 7 the appropriate amount of agonizing years...I will be hosting midnight release parties).

However two things are ABSOLUTELY certain. One, no child of mine will see any Harry Potter movie until they have read at least books 1-4 so as to develop untainted character/story visualization and understanding. And two...you should pity my sons.

11. Listen to my “flying” playlist

This is a playlist I developed sophomore year in an attempt to control my dreams. The working hypothesis is that if I think hard enough about flying before I go to sleep that I will be able to get myself to fly in my dreams. I have never had a better dream than a dream in which I am flying. I recently had a dream that I got to sit in the royal box at the Olympic Closing ceremonies...wearing 2 gold medals and a shiny diamond ring and STILL my flying dreams kick my decorated athlete-royally engaged to be married-dream's ass. I have yet to perfect the science of sleep flying but if you are interested in joining my study please contact me and I will provide you with the "flying" playlist as well as meditation guidelines.

12. Watch the Friends Gag Reel (1994-2004) on YouTube and pretend I’m one of the gang.

13. Battle with my conscience over the amount of guilt I should feel for enjoying the movie version of the DaVinci Code.

14. Due to moral battle throw up a quick "Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep"
...and a "Hail Mary" and "Glory Be" and a couple decades of the rosary just to safe.

15.Watch the Extended Cut version of Lord of the Rings: Return of the King

This is the only movie I have on my iPhone and BOY does it take up a lot of memory. I usually fall asleep halfway through…not because I don’t love this 263 minute ode to Tolkien's Middle-Earth...but because by this time the waltz is ending, the band is tired, the sun has begun to rise and it is once again safe for me to sleep.