Stephanie Lechner: Nametags and Hairnets

Failing career assessments since the 8th grade

Month: September, 2009

Stand by Your Man

I was walking with my buddy Ryan to Starbucks today discussing random facts as we always do. For some reason, neither of us could remember one of the 7 deadly sins. You know, the one where you indulge a little too much. The one embodied by that obese man forced to eat spaghetti until he exploded in Seven. We walked for awhile and the word was just not coming to me.
“The little man in my head is failing me” I said, frustrated at my inability to recall a familiar fact.
“What little man?” Ryan asked.
“The little man that runs the filing cabinets of information in my head. Sometimes it takes a little longer for him to pull the right file. Is that weird?”
“Not really. I just find it a little odd that when you imagine the little person in your head, it’s gender specific. What does it mean that you have a MAN operating the files in your head?”

You know what? I never thought about it like that. I always imagine a short, nebish old man, balding with glasses and suspenders. Seems like the kinda of guy who can keep the large pool of information in my head organized. I’m sure that plays into some age-old gender stereotypes. Or maybe some unresolved psychological issues with men?

Perhaps my bigger concern should be that I believe that I have a tiny person inside my brain.

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Turn the Page

I suffer from a curious ailment. I call it daytime literary narcolepsy.
Every time I open a book, I experience a sudden onset of drowsiness leading to a napping state.
I’m not kidding. Sometimes the symptoms are so strong that the mere thought of cracking open a book puts me to sleep.
And it has nothing to do with me being bored. I LOVE to read. This is strictly a biological response brought on by a trigger which
just happens to be reading a book.
I can remember the first time I noticed it. I was a senior in high school and assigned to read Plato’s Republic.
I woke up the next day, face down in the middle of the book. Not sure how I passed that test but I guess you could say
I’m resourceful. Wait, that makes me sound like a cheater. Not the case. Moving on.

Anyways, it’s starting to frustrate me because I set a goal for myself: I will not buy any more books until I’ve finished
all the books I’ve bought, started to read, and then pushed aside for a shinier, newer book (a much harder feat
for someone like me who also suffers from compulsive book-buying). You can imagine how
long this is taking me considering I can only read about 20 pages before my eyelids get heavy and I find myself
snoring in a pile of unfinished Jane Austen novels, screenwriting books and America Revolutionary biographies.
Since this disorder can’t be found on WebMD or wikipedia, I’m not sure how to cure my condition.
I must soldier on.

A small victory came today when I awoke from my book-induced slumber and finally finished a screenwriting
book that I’ve been reading on and off for the past few months. One down, 50 more to go.

P.S. Don’t ask me how the actual screenwriting is going.

I Walk The Line

I don’t have much to say tonight. I’ve set aside some time tomorrow to sort out some thoughts. Yes, I have to schedule organized thought. If I don’t, it’s one complicated web of random thoughts that never make it to the computer screen.
But I read a hysterical article today and wanted to share it. Before I do, you should know two things:

1. Politically speaking, I am as moderate as it gets. On the conservative/liberal spectrum, I tow the line right down the middle. And I’m content with that. I don’t support parties. I support people.

2. I don’t consider myself to be particularly healthy. I’m painfully aware how bad my diet can be and what I should be doing to improve my overall health.

Now, that being said, here’s the link to the full article from Bill Maher on the Huffington Post website.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/bill-maher/new-rule-you-cant-complai_b_291852.html

But if you’re not a fan of Bill Maher, as I’m sure many of you are not, here is my favorite part. The part that me laughing hysterically in my office this afternoon:

“President Obama has identified all the problems with the health care system, but there’s one tiny issue he refuses to tackle, and that’s our actual health.
And since Americans can only be prodded into doing something with money, we need to tax crappy foods that make us sick like we do with cigarettes, and alcohol — and alcohol actually serves a useful function in society in that it enables unattractive people to get laid, which is more than you can say for Skittles.”

I love this man’s unabashed brutal honesty and cleverness. It makes me happy.

Livin on the Edge

A little snippet of my text conversation this evening with my best friend:

Me: Is it weird that I think it might be fun to take the mensa test?
Kylie: Nah…live it up
Me: That’s a sad sentence. I realize now that maybe my life is not as exciting as I’d like to think it is.

Give Peace a Chance

I’m a bit of a hippie (You can probably blame my mother for that. She’s your typical liberal, feminist hippie disguised as a housewife). Anyways, I bring this up because I strive to be a person of peace. So much so that I tattooed an olive branch on the back of my neck. I hate confrontation and think that all you need in this world is a little love. 

That was until I met mean, ol’ Mrs. Giorgi. She’s this crazy old bird that comes in the spa whose self-appointed mission is to make my life miserable. Ok that’s not entirely true. I don’t think she intends on making me so miserable. She comes to the Waldorf Astoria every couple of months to haggle prices, make unreasonable demands, yell at the staff, use our amenities and in general just loiter in our space. And every time I see her I kinda wanna punch her. 
Yep, I said it. I wanna punch an old lady. And now you all know my dirty little secret. Oy. 
In all honesty, she is probably just some lonely old woman who doesn’t have anyone to talk to. So she comes to the hotel and we all get to serve as her dysfunctional family members for a few hours. And her visits serve as a reminder to me that despite all my peaceful aspirations, a little bit of rage can be found just beneath the surface. 
But don’t worry, I hear NYC is known for really good psychiatrists. 

A Long Time Coming

I think this blog is about three years in the making. I’m guilty on all counts of procrastination. I was cataloging my life the other day (as I so often do) and the following things occurred to me:

1. I’m a writer that doesn’t write
2. I’m a photographer that doesn’t take pictures
3. I’m a traveler that has never used her passport
4. I’m a filmmaker that doesn’t make movies
Some days I wake up feeling like one of those misfit toys. Like Charlie-in-the-box. Like all of my skills don’t quite add up to my shiny-toy exterior. Luckily I seem to be on the right island and there is no reason why things can’t be different. 
Which brings me to today. My blogger birthday. Who wants to bake me a cake?