Books helped me through that period (and that period). I was mostly a Sci Fi kid (and still am), but all the girls were everyone was reading Judy Blume, so I did too. The book that I remember most isn’t the perennial Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret.

The book I remember most is Blubber.

Why? Because I was the fat kid. And then I turned into the kid who taunted the fat kid. I wanted the cool girls to like me. And so, even though I knew it was wrong, I joined pretty and popular Suzanne D. as she performed jumping jacks in front of Sharon H., chanting “Exercise helps keep you skinny! Exercise helps keep you skinny!” until Sharon’s lower lip quivered and she started to cry. And then she ran, with her left arm covering her face and her straight, bowl-cut, dirty blonde hair swinging like fringe, out of the sixth grade classroom and into the hallway. She was wearing a white shirt, wrinkled and untucked at the back. Her gait was awkward. She bumped into a desk. I remember everything. Everything.

I feel shame 34 years later. And the cool girls still don’t like me.

Hearing the name Judy Blume sends me back in time to those confusing days. But hearing the name Judy Blume also reminds me of how her books helped me make sense of what was happening. And although today’s adolescent confusions and behaviors are twisted and magnified by the Internet, at the core the issues remain the same: how do we respond to our encounters with racism, bullying, sex and sexuality, our bodies?

The Mark Twain House & Museum is bringing Judy Blume to the University of Hartford to speak as part of its Clemens Lecture series. Both Mark Twain and Judy Blume have written honestly about the adolescent experience in America, and Blume joins Twain as one of the  most censored authors of the current era.

Julia Pistell, a talented Hartford writer, will be holding a conversation with Blume about her work, writing life, and legacy. The audience will be invited to participate in the conversation during an extensive Q&A period, after which Blume will hold a book-signing.

The evening promises exceptional access to this important author.

The event will take place at the Lincoln Theater at the University of Hartford.

Tickets cost $25 and $40. An $85 ticket provides VIP seating and a pre-event reception with Blume. To purchase a ticket, visit the University of Hartford box office. Live in Hartford readers are being given a $5 discount on the ticket price at all levels. The discount code is FUDGE.

Programming such as the Clemens Lecture sustains the Mark Twain House & Museum, and allows it to present programs that benefit the community and bring more visitors to Hartford, such as the popular Free Family Day. The next free family event is the annual Ice Cream Social, scheduled for Thursday July 26. Visit the museum’s website for more information about its programming.

"Fire Ant" rhymes with "Face Plant"

Or so I learned last Sunday at the improv comedy class I’ve been taking with Hartford’s own Sea Tea Improv.

My preferred method of drowning, sinking quietly like a 5′ 2 3/4″ long stone, doesn’t heighten the scene.

I’d signed up for the improv class because I’m woefully short of a sense of humor and this fact had been causing problems in my social life. For example, I’d learned only recently that most people don’t run to answer the door when someone says “knock knock.”

It was a relief to learn, actually, because I could stop calling the neighbor kid’s parents about her pranks. I don’t like talking to those people.

On the first day of class I jumped to the front of the line when our teacher, the wiry, baggy-jeaned, hyper, funny-talking Joe Leonardo, asked for two people to sit down, face each other, and just have a talk. I figured I’d better be first because otherwise I’d be hiding in the back of the class for the remaining seven weeks wishing I was very, very small.

Someone threw out a prompt to get our discussion started – the word “tofu.” That was perfect because I’d recently had an incident with a package of tofu that had exploded in my refrigerator. I’d forgotten it was there and it was far beyond its expiration date. I think it created a little tofu liqueur, which I would have tried if I wasn’t a teetotaler. (I’m a tea totaler, actually. Tea. Totally.)

I learned that improv comedy is basically a series of games with rules. One of the rules is “always make your partner look good,” which would have come in handy when I pointed out to a senior manager that he had used the word “it’s” incorrectly while giving a speech.

Another rule is “yes and.” Basically what that means is that after one of your game partners makes a statement, you don’t contradict them. Instead you say “yes, and…”

For example, my partner might say “My, my, Percival, you surely do look lovely in your striped satin pajamas” and instead of saying “I’m not Percival and my pajamas aren’t satin!” I would say “Yes, and my name isn’t Percival and these are floral flannels.”

We play some games that I don’t think are very inspired. Like in one game we have to offend someone so much that they won’t sit next to us anymore. I don’t think I should have to pay to do something that comes naturally.

In another game four of us are each given a way to die. A “normal” way to die. An “epic” way to die. An “unnatural” way to die. A “Biblical” way to die. And we have to die by the end of the game.

And that’s how I found myself drowning in an alligator-infested lake while one daughter fell into a nest of fire ants, our picnic guest was beset upon by the lake-dwelling alligators, and my other daughter was smote (smited? smitten?) by God.

God peeps through a hole in Heaven to target someone for a smiting.

Sea Tea Improv offers all kinds of classes. An eight-weeker coming up soon is “The Game.” A single-day workshop yet to be scheduled is on the fascinating improv musical theater.

I’ll be taking that class, and here’s my debut. The heart-wrenching opener to “Julie, the Musical.”

Hey there! I'm singing! And I'm funny too!

Sea Tea Improv is having a Longform Comedy Showcase this coming Friday, February 24, at the Studio at Billings Forge. I saw the January show. It caused me to laugh.

Henning Ohlenbusch plays at Flywheel in Easthampton MA in November 2011. Photo by Julie Beman.

I needn’t have worried. These songs aren’t straight-from-the-dorm-room recitations of Monty Python movies set to music. They’re gorgeous. I was mesmerized. Henning’s songs are honest, wistful, melancholic, intimate. To me, other than the titles, they don’t have anything to do with movies at all. Rather, they’re about shared human experiences – heartbreak, alienation, bringing love to others – and so many other familiar pains and joys.

And the lyrics – charming, fascinating, funny, full of beautiful imagery. That’s where music gets me – the way it interacts with words.

After Henning helped me record a song for a Christmas gift (Wait. What? Helped? Yeesh, he did everything but write and sing it!), I thought the least I could do was find him a gig in Hartford. And I found it. Rather, I made it. He’ll be performing a house concert on March 3, 2012 at 7:30.

You really have to check him out.

In the city bus system, the most mysterious and the most mundane incidents and people are observed by an elite squad of tweeters.

These are their stories.

30 Aug

Dear Fellow Bus Passenger, Please remove your forearm from my knee. Kthxbai.

31 Aug

On the Type A bus. Amazing how traffic slows at the merge of Elizabeth & Asylum. When I look I see that each car is filled with *1* person.

Lady on bus playing game. It makes bubble-pop sounds. She bobs her head when the sound is made. Or is the sound made when she bobs her head?

Just rode the Go to Work at the Mall bus.

1 Sep

In our continuing series of bus observations, I’d like to note that sitting on the aisle to block off the seat next to you is not cool.

OH: The giraffe has to get surgery now. I dropped him and a couple parts fell off.

OH: Chris, if you don’t shut up I’ll punch you in the mouth. (Adult to child.)

2 Sep

Back on the bus. Population of riders is completely different today than yesterday. It’s very hushed. People are reading, talking quietly.

6 Sep

Type A bus. Conversation about Ann Taylor, proximity to the mall, where to find a good tailor, and “older” peeps…in their 40s.

Type A bus: They prefer bars in West Hartford and Glastonbury, because downtown Hartford has “older, like, foreign people.” Wow.

On the To the Mall! bus. It’s very crowded and there’s a lot of perfume and cologne action. A woman is holding a rail, swaying.

The swaying woman is telling a little boy that it’s rude to tell his sister that she can’t talk. If he can talk, she can talk.

7 Sep

People on the bus are quiet. Everyone is looking straight ahead. No one is animated. I’ll give the rain credit for that.

On Type A bus heading home. Seems like there are two business meetings taking place…one at the front, one at the back.

Just saw a Wallace Stevens “blackbird” stone. “A man and a woman are one. A man and a woman and a blackbird are one.”

There’s a VERY cute guy on the bus.

9 Sep

I now know the sound of the bus from a block away. It inspires me to run.

Tisane, Clemens Place, Mark Twain House, Harriet Beecher Stowe Center, the old Comet, Green Apple, St. Joseph Cathedral, Aetna.

“Mira! Mira!”

12 Sep

On the Type A bus. It’s stopping at different places today, and new people are boarding. There’s luggage in the luggage rack.

Bus drivers & potential riders have a language. A slight nod means “please stop.” A slight shake of the head: “thanks but not now.”

About to sit down when Blackberry- & Briefcase dude in windowpane check shirt & slacks turns around, blocks me, & takes my seat

The sparkly gold ray halo on the Giant Jesus at St. Joseph Cathedral is actually to keep pigeons off.

Yeah. There are sparkly spikes embedded in the concrete halo. They caught my eye because they’re sparkly. And then I realized.

13 Sep

Read the news and blogs on Twitter rather than observing the bus today.

Ooh! Sitting on the Half Upper Level of the bus! I can pretend I’m in Half Dublin!

15 Sep

On the Type A bus going Somewhere Else. It’s funny how getting off the bus at a new stop always makes me feel a little nervous.

A big ol’ SUV nearly drove into the side of the bus. I don’t think I’d take a right on red in front of a bus

Wow. Almost happened again. The formula seems to be “wait for the bus to accelerate and then take a right on red.

16 Sep

Beauty. Hartford has it.

Most pleasant bus driver ever.

I wish I was on the Fern bus rather than the Farmington bus because I’m tired and I don’t want to walk that far in these (fabulous) shoes.

A rather large lady who smells of cigarette smoke just landed on my lap when she sat down. That was uncomfortable.

19 Sep

Happy Monday! Waiting for the Type A bus. A little cold. Don’t have a “not freezing, not warm” coat. Should prolly get one.

Sometimes I watch the cars with one person in them and wonder why they don’t collect people along the way as they go downtown.

It is freaking freezing on this bus.

20 Sep

Ooh…city bus nearly rear-ended a school bus. Brakes were slammed & flinging forward occurred & now my recently healed back hurts.

I am grateful that I have legs because a lady who does not, and who has only one arm, is getting on the bus

21 Sep

Long conversation with a kid at the bus stop. He was telling me about Drake, who apparently doesn’t use a ghost writer.

Drake is the full package apparently. Writes his own rap and even writes for others. The kid said Drake doesn’t hate on anyone.

The kid and his friend rapped for me a little bit. It was a little dodgy, I thought, but I told them I’d check out Drake.

The kids know my brother who teaches at Hartford Public. They’ve offered to make sure no one gives me problems in the ‘hood.

We talked about what matters most to us, music or lyrics. We both fall on the lyrics side of things. We need the story.

As soon as we got on the bus we stopped talking. I don’t want to undermine his coolness. I get that, & it’s fine by me.

On the Type A bus, heading home. I’m so tired that I let a number of Farmington Ave buses pass. I can’t walk the extra block.

Smells bad.

Smells better.

22 Sep

A friend said “Of course you can write a song!” So I believed him, and I wrote one, and recorded it on my phone at the bus stop.

Smartphone City on the Type A bus today. Heads bent toward devices. Silence. Fingers tapping away. Little smiles

Ooh…Corning Fountain! My favorite! The Barenaked Ladies rapped about its “very tricky deer” once upon a time.

Two long-time girlfriends catching up on the bus. One is babbling and giggling and carrying on like a teenager. Oh, that’s me.

23 hours ago

Type A bus. Today is Reading Actual Physical Books Day, as well as Puzzle Day. Also, young women in the back are all like “Like.”

There are some kind of magical indicators that cause a speaker to switch on and tell us where we are. We just passed Grurtaghaftik.

15 hours ago

It would be totally rude to take a pic, but Super Sparkle Lady is on the bus. Over-the-knee sequin boots. Rhinestone sweatshirt.

Fashion Day! Very thin man wearing tight teal t-shirt appliqueed with white vinyl sneakers plus real laces and real velcro straps.

Follow @liveinhartford on twitter if you’d like.

I was at work the other day and we were talking about how the bridges on I-84 were being inspected after the earthquake. During the discussion, one of my co-workers said, “Hartford is a dump.”

I figured I had to be missing something…something that connected I-84 and earthquakes to Hartford. I did a little research and took out my trusty calculator.

I-84 runs about 380 miles from Scranton, Pennsylvania to the Mass Pike. My very crude measurement of the length of I-84 through Hartford is 4.4 miles.

View Larger Map

The equation is startlingly elegant!

Aftershock * aging infrastructure + (157 miles of I-84 in CT – 4.4 miles in Hartford)/gobshite = Hartford is a Dump.

This changes everything we’ve ever known about Hartford. Everything.

It’s called “Wedding Song,” and is from Mitchell’s project, Hadestown, a “folk opera” based on the myth of Orpheus, one of the Greek myths that captured my imagination as a child.

Mitchell has set the story in a post-apocalyptic America where hardship rules the day and the division between the Haves in Hades and the Have-Nots everywhere else is stark and cruel.

The libretto, by Mitchell, is fabulous. The score, written by Michael Chorney, suits the story perfectly. The opera is quirky and profound as it explores the question “how far will we go in order to survive?”

Hadestown is coming to Hartford on November 19. It’s being presented for free by the Bushnell Performing Arts Center.

While the event is free, tickets are required. You can reserve them by calling the box office at 860-987-5900 or by going to the box office at 166 Capitol Avenue. They are not available online.

To hear some of the music from the studio recording, including “Wedding Song” performed by Anaïs Mitchell and Justin Vernon (Bon Iver),visit the Hadestown music page.

Maybe it’s because when she’s in Hartford, Auntie Julie gets to dance with you and Kyle in a hula hoop.

Megan, Kyle and Auntie Julie are dancing together.

Maybe it’s because when she’s in Hartford, Auntie Julie gets to watch Kyle play with a hula hoop!

Kyle is almost as big as that hula hoop!

Maybe it’s because when she’s in Hartford, Auntie Julie gets to watch you play with a hula hoop!

You go girl! Awesome job!

Maybe it’s because when she’s in Hartford, Auntie Julie gets to see you cover the plaza with hula hoops and run through them!

Pretty cool game, Megan.

Maybe because when she’s in Hartford, Auntie Julie’s knows that you’re nearby, and that makes her very, very happy!

Auntie Julie's favorite Megan ever.

I love you, Megan!

On Wednesday I took the afternoon off from work to participate in a discussion of ways to use empty space in downtown Hartford. A group of 10 interested people met at JoJos.

As the discussion warmed up, one of the participants gestured out toward Pratt Street and said something like “As a woman, I’d be afraid to walk on that street alone at night.” I twitched a little and locked eyes with my companion at the table. “Empty storefronts don’t make me feel safe,” the woman went on to explain.

Uhhh…um…uhh…

Fair enough?

Yes. Fair enough. It has to be.

Are you afraid of spiders?

Once upon a time my hackles would’ve gone up and I would’ve jumped at the opportunity to argue about perception versus reality, the role of the media in perpetuating negative stereotypes, our culture of fear.

Today, I can’t do that. Who am I to tell someone what they should and shouldn’t be afraid of? Who am I to believe that everyone should feel as I do?

What changed?

Simply this: I lived in a place where I felt very, very afraid.

It wasn’t in Hartford. It doesn’t matter where it was, actually. The fact is, I felt afraid. For the first time, after living in cities for 26 years, I felt afraid.

And I also found myself getting angry when someone told me I shouldn’t be afraid. And angrier still when someone told me I was simply unfamiliar with living in an urban setting.

Are you afraid of clowns?

Excuse me?

OK. You believe that if it makes you feel better.

Truth of the matter is, once upon a time there was a drive-by shooting in my neighborhood. Was it scary? Sure, at the time. But guess what? The next day I was sitting on my front porch as if it had never happened.

And my house was broken into a couple of times. Was it scary? Actually, not for me. I’d been out of town. But the fact that the kid who was watching my cats was in the house with two criminals, one of whom had a history of violence, was scary as hell. But again, guess what? Soon I was hanging at home as if it had never happened. And the kid was happy to look after the cats again the next time I went away.

Are you afraid of honey badgers?

I’ve wandered around Barry Square, Downtown, the West End, Asylum Hill and Frog Hollow. All by myself. At night. Holding a backpack full of tech. Wearing really expensive jewelry. Strapped into shoes that weren’t made for running. Carrying $1200 in my wallet.

I’ve done this at high alert, for sure. Confident, bold, spine erect, footsteps purposeful and strong. Those are some of the rules. Others include at the very least making eye contact with the people I pass. Ideally I have an opportunity to greet them.

I never felt stupid or like I was taking unreasonable risks for doing any of those things. I was doing what I want to do or have to do in the place where I live. (Or don’t live, like New York or Boston, Athens or Dublin. All potentially scary places when you’re alone at night.)

Are you afraid of empty streets?

I say I never felt stupid. Part of that is because I wouldn’t do anything stupid. Not on purpose anyway.

For example I was in a new place wondering where I might find tennis courts with a practice wall. A couple of guys told me there was a court with a practice wall down on Whatever Street. Near the highway overpass.

Whir. Click. Tick tick tick. (The sound of me thinking.)

“I wouldn’t go down there by myself,” I said.

“What are you talking about?” one of them responded in a tone I used to use. “Everyone thinks this place is more dangerous than it is. It’s just perception.”

Are you afraid to be under the highway?

Yup. Correct.

I perceive that it would be stupid of me to go to a place I know to be sparsely populated, peppered with abandoned buildings, in the shadows of a highway, armed with only a tennis racquet, by myself.

I’m not afraid of cities but I’m not stupid.

But let me tell you about the time I was afraid.

Really, really afraid.

I had just left my apartment with Gracie, my dog. We were going to take our mile-long early evening walk. There was a group of young men coming up the street behind me. I went on alert – straightening my posture, putting intention behind every footstep. I felt uneasy and gripped Gracie’s leash like a security blanket.

The young men quickened their pace and started talking, ostensibly to each other, but in reality to me. They talked about what they were going to do to me. To Gracie. They said they were going to take her away from me. They said they were going to tie me up. They described what they were going to do with each of my arms, each of my legs. They described exactly how they were going to rape me. What I would say. What they would say. What it would sound like. How it would tear me in half.

Are you afraid of what men say to you on the street?

I wasn’t even ten steps from my apartment door. In other words, I was home.

Recounting this incident later I was astounded by the reactions. Very few people were sympathetic. I was told I had overreacted. I was told that I just didn’t know what it was like to live in the city. I was told that they were “just trying to scare me.”

Just trying to scare me.

Apparently being violently verbally harassed wouldn’t have scared my critics. Just as walking down Pratt Street alone at night wouldn’t scare me.

Which is why I say today, I’m sorry that we live in a world that scares us. I’m sorry that we live in a world that threatens women and girls particularly, such that we have to have rules for walking down the street.

And I’m truly sorry if I ever jumped down your throat for expressing your fear.

You shouldn’t be afraid to do that.

But even more interesting this year is Cedar Hill’s venture into some less traditional opportunities for visitors. The expansion of Cedar Hill’s offerings is due to grants from the Greater Hartford Arts Council and the City of Hartford that allowed Cedar Hill to hire a new Community Outreach Coordinator, Mellissa Craig and allowed Cedar Hill to expand its season of events through December 3, when Cedar Hill will host a Walk of Candlelight.

Cedar Hill's event poster

One of those new events, “Music Among the Memorials,” happens tomorrow at 6pm. Yes, a jazz concert at a cemetery. If you haven’t been to Cedar Hill before, this likely sounds weird, but the place was designed by landscape architect Jacob Weidenmann, who also designed Bushnell Park. It feels like a park. The concert will take place on the hill and lawn next to the community mausoleum. Bring your own food, blankets, chairs, etc — but Cedar Hill sadly does not welcome dogs. The artists include The Alvin Carter Project and Congo Square Ramblers. I confess that although these groups are billed as “well-known Hartford bands,” I’ve never had the opportunity to see them perform. It looks like I’ve been missing out, so I’ll try to fix that tomorrow night. Tickets are $8 if you purchase them by the end of the day, or $15 tomorrow. Rain date is Saturday. Call (860) 956-3311 to purchase tickets today.

I’m also excited about an upcoming event in September. Cedar Hill will host its first movie night on Saturday, September 17 at 8pm. The movie? “The Philadelphia Story,” starring Cedar Hill resident Katharine Hepburn, Jimmy Stewart and my favorite actor of all time, Cary Grant. I’m looking forward to settling back in my chair with some popcorn and a glass of wine and throroughly annoying the people around me by repeating every line. I freely admit that I’m a sucker for old movies, particularly those starring Cary Grant, but if you haven’t seen this movie, you’re missing out on something special. Tickets are $8, or $5 if you’re a Let’s Go Arts member. Rain date is the following Saturday.