That's Professor Bunkie, If You Don't Mind!


Tonight I had the distinct pleasure to talk about comedy writing with a group of very savvy, very fortunate high school students, as part of the Humanities Tennessee Young Writer's Workshop. Kudos to all the participants, to Humanities Tennessee for sponsoring these young talented writers, and to the faculty and staff who take a week out of their summer to orchestrate the details and instruct these eager minds.

As many of you know, I will talk to a brick wall, so speaking to a group of angst-ridden high schoolers poses no significant threat. But this phenomenon called Father Time slapped me on the face tonight and made me realize that my "cool factor" is at an all-time low. Sure, I've seen "Napoleon Dynamite," and I know who India.Arie is. And there are universal truisms that connect all high schoolers, be they from this decade or from the 1970's, as I was, oh so long ago. I still think I'm 18, but in fact these students are staring down at a middle-aged soccer mom reject, with zero fashion sense, offering up classic references on comedy that are older than most of their parents!

It dawned on me, smack in the middle of my presentation, that these poor kids are learning the same basic life truths that I had to learn at their age, thirty years ago. And no amount of pontification on my part can spare them from that experience. I can quip all day long about the importance of higher learning, staying true to one's dream, and the fact that anyone who wants to be a writer should never quit his day job.

And as I quip until the cows come home, these fresh faces smile back at me, radiating their own personal version of what I've just said. Sure, fine, Bunkie, great advice for some poor schmuck, but that won't happen to me, because I'm so talented. I'm going to write the Great American Novel and make a million-buck advance straight out of college. I might even skip college and march into Random House and let them discover me, just like that. I've got my yellow legal pads all ready, hey, it worked for J. K. Rowling!

Go for it, kids. I hope writing success happens to each and every one of you. Far be it from me to snuff out the stars in your eyes. Life is one big picnic, and if you can avoid the ants, you've got it made. Live your dreams, pursue excellence, and be happy. Just realize that dreams evolve, excellence is subjective, and happiness is a relative term.

The single most important fact I can impart to young, aspiring writers is this: Art Must Eat!

Trust me on this, Professor Bunkie knows all!

The Tale of the Internet Refugee...

Alas, nearly three months has passed since my last blog. Whip me hard, and make it hurt, I deserve it. But let me engage you in a tale so sordid, you'll immediately want to take me out and buy me a jelly donut to lessen my misery.

The past 90 days haven't been all fun and games, I assure you. And I did nothing at all, whatsoever, to deserve this Job-like existence. I was sitting quietly in the comfort of my own living room, reading a very steamy romance novel (what, you expected Dickens? Give me a break, it's summer!).

Suddenly an extremely loud clap of thunder and a bolt of resultant lightning shook my entire house; the dogs were in my lap, the child was hollering, my husband slept through the whole thing, and I swear, I fully expected to look out my back window and see my entire backyard engulfed in flames. It ended as quickly as it began, so I resumed reading about engorged manhood in the Scottish Highlands.

Little did I realize that my Network Interface Card was fried. I didn't even know I had a Network Interface Card, nor did I know that it would be WEEKS before I regained the ability to Surf the Web, Check Email, or connect with you, gentle reader(s).

If you look up "High Speed Cable Provider" in the dictionary, you'll see a picture of Alfred E. Neumann, and if I have to explain that to you, stop reading right now. The 87 cable repair men who visited my house over a 2 week period wanted to drill holes in my walls, and in their final act of repair frustration, they suggested quite strongly that I relocate my office to the bathroom "because the signal is so strong." I promptly cancelled, because my friends said, "Get a DSL, it's so easy."

"Easy" is one of those subjective, potentially dangerous words, and I have subsequently learned that there is a separate vocabulary for our friends in the Public Utility Sector. Case in point: if you tell me I'll have service in a week, I assume that will be 7 days. The Public Utility Sector definition is 24 days, because (take your pick): a) oh, did we forget to tell you there's no DSL service in your area yet, and we have to build a sub-station? b) no, ma'am, you don't need any phone line filters with that DSL modem (you do, trust me), and c) no one in the Public Utility Sector has functioning brain cells. Ok, I'm exaggerating...one person out of the 10 people I talked to over the course of 3+ weeks actually knew what she was doing. Veeerrrry scary.

For the first 2 weeks without internet service, my days were filled with an endless stream of high-speed cable repairmen (please be available between noon and 5pm), the UPS man (those forgotten DSL filters...first they sent NONE, then they sent ONE, but we have 4 phone jacks...)or my Hero, Jeremy the Computer Man. You cannot believe the comedy of errors in which I found myself: my modem was shipped to the wrong house, yet the customer service person insisted I had signed for it (sure, I always sign fake names to accept my packages, HAHA, what a kidder!).

On a family trip to Birmingham (let's review, there were 3, count 'em, 3 family reunions staying at our hotel), at least I was able to check emails on the hotel internet service. Then it dawned on me...other places have wireless capability! During my third week without service, I began to casually ask total strangers if they knew where I could find free WiFi. I scoured the doors of local restaurants for that little wireless icon...

Listen, it's not a far fall from Soccer Mom to Internet Refugee. For days, I ventured out at 6AM to score my WiFi fix. I always bought my share of baked goods and coffee, God forbid they kick me out before I could empty my Inbox! Messages were sent and websites plundered in the wee hours before my husband left for work. I became part of the Internet Refugee community...those ashen, haggard-looking people who point WiFi-finder keychains into the air, seeking a signal, strung out on caffeine and too many stale bagels. It's not pretty.

The Public Utility stars aligned, my Computer Man Jeremy did a Home Intervention, and once again I'm back on board, surfing the Web in the privacy of my own residence. But I'm still in touch with my street friends. In fact, I'm thinking that I could really do a nice side business, selling coffee and pastries to Internet junkies looking for a free fix. I mean, I got 3 months of income to make up, right?