Noodles Five Ways: REID #209
And where do the geese go... ?
SHORT:
After writing this, I am going to go where no gay person has ever gone before: to sleep.
MEDIUM:
My mom came to town this weekend. She wanted to see Suffs "because of Kamala"*—so Jess, my sister, and I accompanied her on her journey.
When we arrived at the theatre, we were seated next to a group of women in light-up jackets and purple sashes that said, “WE ARE HERE.” I’m glad they added the sashes! The jackets did not get that message across on their own!
Also, here to what? Direct aircrafts? WHY WERE THEY WEARING LIGHT-UP JACKETS??? And where did they get them???
After the show, we lingered outside the theatre, and then suddenly, my mom was hugging a random man she met because he was “from Alabama” but “a supporter of women.” The man then hugged my sister. And then looked at me and Jess… for a long time… before turning, and walking away.
Absolutely. Better to play it safe! Wouldn’t want to hug a could-be guy and accidentally turn gay!
*Kamala is not in the musical.
LONG:
Before seeing Suffs, Jess and I ran 18 miles in the pouring rain (marathon training continues… please donate here).
I woke up at 6am and kicked things off with a pre-run Dramamine, because, despite my Irish and Polish ancestors traveling to America by ship, I get seasick — on land. I can’t handle “repetitive bouncing” — it’s a medical condition called PLS*.
*Pathetic loser syndrome
(A lot of people have PLS, but it manifests in different ways; for example, Jess found out they had it on March 25th, 2015, when they had to stay home from University classes after Zayn left One Direction).
It takes us 2 miles to run up to Prospect Park, and usually there’s a fair amount of people out and about. But on Saturday? Nada. Actually, there could’ve been some. But I wouldn’t know, because I was blinded by the massive raindrops smacking me in the face.
Once at the park, we were greeted by the deafening roar of motorcycles. Normally the park is motor-vehicle-free, so we were quite startled by the men on hogs. Turns out? There was a 100k roller blading race. And the hogs were there to guide them.
Moments later, 50-100 people in latex onesies whizzed past, seemingly unfazed by the weather. Meanwhile, I was approaching mile 5, freezing, and and feeling like I might throw up and shit my pants simultaneously — which shouldn’t have been happening! I took Dramamine!
[Sure, I had two Eggo waffles and a microwave burrito for dinner at 9pm the night before, but I do that a lot! Because in addition to PLS, I have POAPS*.
*Palette Of A Psychopath Syndrome]
I decided my nausea was not my fault and actually “The Bladers’ fault” — their whooshing past us every few minutes was messing with me. Usually when we run, we go up and down, but the world around us stays relatively still! Today? Everything was glidey-glidey spin-spin.
By the second park lap, I mentally willed away the nausea, but then, came the butt-hurt. Luckily! I’ve been struggling with butt-hurting-during-running for a long time, and I’ve invented a solution where basically you just punch your own butt-cheeks repeatedly while you jog. Jess loves when I do this because it doesn’t attract attention at all and makes me appear normal and even cool.
I will say, one benefit of running during a downpour? No geese.
Usually, there’s a section of the path that’s swarming with massive, terrifying geese. You have to run through them—there’s no way around. Every time I approach, I hold my breath and avoid making eye contact with the birds. The last thing I need is for one to think I’m charging and attack me. “Killed by a goose in Prospect Park” is just too on-the-nose for my death certificate.
We passed the usually-geese-infested patch a few times, and I started to wonder “where the geese go in the rain”. I searched for glimpses of them beneath bushes and shrubs during the 3 hours we spent in the park, but didn’t see a single feather, webbed-foot, or freaky-deaky neck.
“Where do the geese go in the rain?” sounds poetic, but I assure you, there was nothing elegant or beautiful about the state I was in. I was soaking wet, gasping for air, and about to barf and shit my pants1 while dodging dozens of wannabe Apolo Ohnos. If it was a poem, it was something out of Edgar Allan Poe… “Once upon a Saturday dreary, while I nearly shat myself, weak and weary…” etc. etc.
Well, that’s enough of whatever this has been…
Snack Of The Week this week is: Noodles Five Ways2. Traditionally served ice-cold at 10:45 p.m., “Noodles Five Ways” consists of 1 scoop of every kind of pasta salad and macaroni dish left at the Whole Foods hot bar at that hour. Fill up your cardboard box until you feel something, smush it all together into an unholy, congealed heap, and enjoy! 600 dollars at checkout, of course! You know I’m in a truly amazing place in my life when I prepare “Noodles Five Ways”! And I’ve done it twice in the last two weeks!
And now, as promised, I will bravely go to sleep.
My mom’s going to be mad about the way she’s portrayed in the Suffs section of this newsletter, but thrilled that I invoked “The Raven”.
Every rose has its thorn, or whateva!
C U Next Tuesday
Thank you for subscribing to this newsletter. Sometimes it’s funny, sometimes it’s not [it’s a lot like when people slip on ice].If this is your first time reading, pls check out the archives.
Sincerely,
Reid Pope
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Bonus Jonas:
Late Stage link. Also, come see Late Stage at The Bell House in November.
Also, my short film, Lesbian Jesus Is Pregnant With Vibes, will screen at NewFest in October! You can get tickets here.
Wish I was being dramatic about the bodily stuff, but I’m not. I still have a feud with a man in Prospect Park who wouldn’t unlock a Port-A-Potty for me during a time of extreme need…
Sometimes I put more than 5 kinds of noodles in; regardless, it should still be called “Noodles Five Ways” — it’s more of a spiritual title than an accurate one. Capiche?
Self diagnosed PLS, diagnosed under very similar one direction related circumstances to Jess…..
another banger, god bless that man at suffs