Embarrassment Behind the Ice

How do I skate in this thing?

After letting a few days pass to regain my composure, self esteem and some extra feathers, I will share my most embarrassing accident to date. I realized I should capitalize off my suffering instead of suffering silently by myself. Thank God for the internet. My incident had no witnesses, but now the world can laugh at my expense. Go easy on me, I'm poor.

It all started as the usual scene between shows: me eating something and then trying to decide 30 minutes later if I'm still hungry and if I'd eaten enough to survive another show. After eating a mini pizza, I decided I needed more carbs before going into the show, where I'd play the head sergeant of the green army boy toys in addition to my usual roles. This is as close to participating in the army as I'll probably ever get, so I at least wanted my blood sugar to be up.

Cackling 'Til the World Ends

So, the world didn't end.

God's revenge.

The Mayans predicted the end of the world for December 21, 2012. Their calendar had been spot on up until now, so many people at least entertained the idea of our demise on that date. In days leading up to the 21st, each news article revealed more facts and opinions dismissing doomsday, but this potential apocalypse still grabbed (too much) attention. Why didn't any of these arguments discrediting the apocalypse come out any sooner than the week of the frenzy? At least the Mayans had more credibility than that Christian whack job (Harold Camping) who keeps picking random dates for the end of the world, who is wrong every time, but still gets media attention. I say the world will end on August 5, 2985 (my 1,000th birthday), will you listen to me?

Tupelo: Not Spanish for "Your Hair"

Real American. Real English.

As we travel weekly to a new city with Hens on Ice, I try to assimilate into the local culture. Last year's tour through Europe was a challenge in some ways, but easy in others. I avoided flashy clothes or anything with an American flag to blend in on the streets, and with my WASPy complexion, some locals even thought I was from there...until I opened my mouth. When I opened my mouth, no matter what country and what language they spoke, I was done assimilating. My accent was like an American flag sweater I couldn't take off.

I first thought this year's tour through much of the U.S. would be far easier to blend. I live in this country - consider me assimilated! I've had twenty...something years to learn and live. No menus in foreign languages or women asking me for directions in French this time. While Florida was easy since I live there, many of these southern cities have been worlds of their own. My parents never took me to the south to assimilate.

Warning: Not Funny, But There Are Pictures

Even The Cackling Hen takes cackle breaks. Usually, this silent hiatus is seen by me just not writing anything for three months (there's nothing funny about a cold, grey winter). Although I try to slip in the occasional pearl of wisdom between clucks, this Hen post aims to keep the cackles sparse because I have something more to say (and I'm just not feeling that funny!)

If you're still reading, this post contains 9,000 words in picture form (again, they won't make you cackle). We are in Biloxi, Mississippi this week, a town battered by Hurricane Katrina. When I first thought of Biloxi, I just pictured its waterfront casinos, but after doing a little research, I learned that Biloxi, much like New Orleans, was devastated by Katrina.