PaulaPoundstone.com

Tweets From A Night’s Event

Paula — Wed, 30 Nov 2011 22:07:23 +0000

I watched a few minutes of KCAL’s on-line coverage of downtown
L.A. last night, and I began to Tweet, because it was more than I
could bear:
In their coverage of the L.A.P.D. clearing the Occupy L.A.
protesters, the local newscasters are practically begging for
violence.

“Looks like emotions are running a little bit higher between the
police and the protesters now, Bob what do you think?” “I hope so,
Mary.”

“We are live at the L.A. encampment, where we go to our reporter
Bob, who will poke the protesters with a stick.”

“Bob, is it possible that these people have weapons? They seem
quite angry?” “They could, Mary, and wouldn’t that just be a darned
shame.”

“Bob, I notice a young woman with green hair there behind you,
and she’s crying. See if you can talk to her. This is so moving.”

“I’ll try, Mary, but it is at great personal risk. Many of these
peaceful protesters seemed to have just been poked with a stick.”

“Mary, I’m here with the woman with green hair, and indeed her
emotions are running high. I think I can get her to cry some more.
Hold on.”

“Ma’am, I’m Bob..We are live on KCAL at the Occupy L.A. protest.
Police are clearing the encampment. Did you know you have green hair?”

“Mary, now I’ve really got her boo-hooing. Can we go in tight?” “
Bob, this is the kind of in depth coverage people have come to expect.

“Bob?” “Yes, Mary?” “We’re good, aren’t we?” “We’re fantastic, Mary.”

“Mary, it looks like the L.A.P.D. is about to move in a strategic
pattern.” “Can you see the pattern from where you are, Bob?”

“I believe I can, Mary. It appears they are moving their left
feet in, and then their left feet out.” “Bob, can we go in tight,
again?”

“Mary, I don’t know if you can see this, but two officers are
taking down a tent, and they can’t find all of the poles.” “GO IN
TIGHT, BOB!”

“Mary, the protesters are continuing to chant that they are the
99%, and yet, there seem to be more than 99 here. I don’t get it.”

“Mary, with all of these tents you’d think there’d be some
marshmallows, wouldn’t you? I’m gonna drill down on this, Mary.”

“You’re on fire tonight, Bob. Interview another protester.”"
About the marshmallows, Mary?” “No, Bob, about the protest.”
“Protest?”

“This is Bob, for KCAL in downtown L.A., where police are moving
strategically towards protesters, who I am desperately hoping will
blow.”

“You’re watching KCAL. We go live to Bob at the stand off between
police and occupy L.A. protesters, where he is looking for
marshmallows.”

“This is Bob for KCAL in downtown Los Angeles, where police are
now performing scary hand shadows on the tent walls of the
protesters.”

“Mary?” “Yes, Bob?” “I’m telling you there’s more than 99 people
here.” “Bob, I don’t think that’s what the phrase means.”

“Don’t contradict me, Mary. We’re live.” “Bob, I’m the anchor. We
can just go to a possible police chase while you get yourself
together.”

“You’re watching KCAL’s live coverage of something that might
happen if we can keep you here long enough. I’m Mary. Bob, are you
there?”

“Mary, I’m coming live, inside this tent. Unfortunately, there’s
no room for the camera in here. You’ll just have to take my word for
it.”

“Mary?” “Yes, Bob?” “You know how you make that little joke when
you transition from story to story?” “Yes, Bob.” “I never get it.”

Two of my followers expressed concern about my jokes, and so, I
posted the obvious:
Thanks. My jokes are not about the movement, which I very much
appreciate, but about the local, blood thirsty coverage.

Again, thank you Occupy L.A.. Thank you, Occupy Wall Street.
Thank you, you brave U. C. Davis students.

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Occupied By Thoughts

Paula — Tue, 18 Oct 2011 06:26:53 +0000

Lately now, I feel like Norma Rae, when she tells her husband,
who complains about her busy schedule, that he can have sex with her
while she does the dishes. Except I am not a labor organizer, I don’t
have a husband, and I really need to concentrate when I do the dishes.
I like a busy life, but I’m beginning to wonder if I’m not just
spinning my wheels. I hear a lot of people make jokes about the
“Occupy” movement, but I sure admire them. Sure it’d be great if they
articulated a list of realistic demands, but until they are able to do
so, they’re certainly bringing attention to the fact that not all
Americans can be pacified into just accepting a banking system that is
woefully unfair. Good for them. I’m working my ass off, and will
probably never do anything that important.
I vacuum a lot, which is not likely to bring about social change.
I get up everyday trying to give my kids what they need to become
productive adults, while making a living telling my little jokes, but
sometimes there’s something of substance that seems to be missing.
You go, you occupiers.

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I Was Just Talking About A Balaclava

Paula — Sat, 15 Oct 2011 11:44:04 +0000

I was lucky enough to work at the Crest Theater in Sacramento,
California recently. I talked to a woman who described herself as a,
“full time activist.” I felt tired just thinking about it. It seems so
active. I’m so glad I’m a stand-up comic. I travel a lot, but I mostly
just have to sit on a plane. I don’t have to flap. I learn a lot from
everyone that I meet, although I think I’m still behind, overall,
because I didn’t apply myself in high school.
I asked the crowd one night, as I sometimes do, if anyone
bisected angles in their work. A gentlemen about halfway up the left
side of the audience said that he did. He was a structural engineer,
although he didn’t seem to know it right away. His wife, or girlfriend
seemed to be coaching him, I figured out. At first, when I would ask
him a question, her voice would come back to me from the darkness. It
was jarring, given the publicity surrounding the Chaz Bono story, a
man whose courage I very much admire, by the way. Upon further
questioning, the structural engineer told me that his work involved
floor joists. Despite all of my travel, and use of many floors along
the way, I had never heard of floor joists. I sleep on the floor, but
it never occurred to me that there might be joists somewhere beneath
my exhausted frame. That same night, while packing, I came across a
Public Television documentary about the San Francisco earthquake that
collapsed the Bay Bridge. One of the fire fighters, who went back into
a building, while people on the outside told him not to, in order to
rescue a woman just before the building collapsed, mentioned the
“floor joist” in his description of the ordeal. Had it not been for my
job, I would have gotten the broad strokes of the documentary, but
missed the technical details. I can’t help wondering how many times
that has happened.
I’m a proud Atheist, but when this sort of thing happens, one
does get an eerie feeling that there is some sort of a plan.
Last winter, for example, I came across the word “balaclava” in a
book I was reading aloud to my son. Using the text around the word, I
guessed that it was a hat of some sort. I then looked it up, in order
to set a good example for my son, and, bingo, it’s a warm hat with a
face mask. The next day we heard an NPR piece about the the band
Vampire Weekend, and in one of their songs that they played, there
again was the word “balaclava.” Are you getting tingly? There’s more.
The next day we were shopping at REI for our snowy adventure
backpacking trip, and found an entire rack of what I at one time
thought to simply be warm hats, but were in fact labeled “balaclavas.”
Is that a freakish coincidence or what? We bought two.

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Chef Inspired Soups

Paula — Mon, 10 Oct 2011 19:41:59 +0000

Our Von’s grocery store has a case of soups, not far inside the
store, that bears the sign: CHEF INSPIRED SOUPS.
I’ve bought some of the soups before, not because I thought they were
“Chef Inspired,” but because I don’t cook, and I didn’t yet realize
how chock full of fat and salt they are. That too may have been “Chef
Inspired.” I don’t know. I didn’t even notice the sign the first time
I bought them. I have no idea what it’s supposed to mean. I would
imagine that these soups are made in a factory, like any other. I
guess, though, that if you were to pull one of the factory workers off
of the line and ask them, “What are you thinking about while you run
this soup conveyor belt?” He’d push the elastic of his shower cap back
slightly on his forehead, look off in the distance, and say wistfully,
“A chef.”

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In The Know

Paula — Mon, 10 Oct 2011 19:40:35 +0000

People sometimes think I’m well informed, because I’m lucky
enough to be heard on NPR’s ‘Wait, Wait Don’t Tell Me.” For those of
you who don’t know, it’s a weekly news quiz show. I get to be a part
of a panel of three, about once a month or so. I lose a lot, even
though I study the news on the weeks that I’m on. Although, the study
sessions are a bit brief sometimes. How much I know about the world is
directly related to how much of my attention is gobbled up by the
goings on of my family life. Things have been rocky at home of late.
It’s a lucky thing I’m not on “Wait, Wait…” this week. I know
almost nothing. I know there’s a witch running for Senate, but that
may just be seasonal. If election day was at a different time of year,
she may have been an elf or a Pilgrim. I know that, in France, High
School students have joined others in the streets to protest the
retirement age being moved to sixty-five, which means they think way
farther ahead than Americans. In Santa Monica we have High School
students who won’t graduate until they’re sixty-five. Thank goodness
our High School students don’t worry about retirement. Surely, good
news does not await them on that topic. If the current French High
School students retire at sixty-five, and come here on vacation,
they’ll find eighty year old college educated Americans beating the
fuck out of each other for the chance to bus their tables.
I do listen to NPR often. I don’t pick a program. I just turn it
on and listen to what’s there. I end up catching “Market Place” a lot.
I’ve easily heard 100 economists interviewed. They never seem to be
out of work. Still, I don’t really know anything about the economy. I
can tell when they play a happy little song, or a sad little song. It
doesn’t much matter. My personal finances are governed by my mood
swings, not sound advice. I can go from feeling broke to feeling rich
without the slightest change to my bank balance.
I have three teenagers. Life at home is a bit volatile right now.
I’m not sure when I’ll be able to again focus on the events of the
outside world, but I have a feeling it’ll be like missing a soap opera
for a while. The story won’t have moved along very far with or without
my watchful eye.

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SCHOOL SUPPLIES

Paula — Wed, 14 Sep 2011 20:06:42 +0000

I got a call from my son’s school counselor saying that he did
not yet have his school planner book. Santa Monica schools call it the
“Binder Reminder.” It’s an assignment book with a holograph of the
school on the cover, pages on which to write assignments, and daily
inspirational platitudes. The platitudes are stuff like, “Aim high,”
“Be a friend,” and “Follow your path.” I have been forced to buy these
stupid books from the school for each of my kids every year, but
Toshia and Thomas almost never write their assignments down. Every
year the “Binder Reminder” got more expensive, and filled with more
unnecessary stuff, too. The high school has gotten so bad that their
“Binder Reminder” has blanks for the student’s drug dealer’s phone
number. The school argues that it’s easier to teach responsibility
with something they like.
I just made one for Thomas. I bought a plain spiral notebook,
and wrote my own inspirational platitudes in it. I wrote,”Write your
assignments down,” and on one page I put, “Write your assignments
down,” and on the next page I wrote , “In the name of all that is good
on the fucking planet, write your assignments down.” Several pages in
I wrote, “Let’s kick it up a notch. How about, actually, do your
assignments?”

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Chicago, Illinois; Ephrata, Pennsylvania; and Madison, Wisconsin

Paula — Sat, 10 Sep 2011 19:20:23 +0000

It’s Saturday, September 10th. I arrived at my hotel in Madison,
Wisconsin about an hour ago. I’m a butter lover in a dairy state. I
flew in this morning from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, which was as close
as I could get to my job in Ephrata, Pennsylvania by plane. When I
went to take my pouch of toothbrushes, floss, and personal hygiene
items out of my suitcase it wasn’t there. I’ve been traveling, and
packing for thirty years,in every state of consciousness, and I can
count on one hand the number of things I’ve left behind. Ninety
percent of my packing errors have occurred in the last year. This
really worries me. Now I was stuck with another phone call to add to
my list of things to do. I would have to call the hotel I stayed in in
Ephrata. They would surely tell me to call back on Monday, because, I
know from experience, there’s no hotel employee qualified to look for
something on a Saturday or Sunday. Then I had to figure out if the
things in the pouch are financially worth the shipping charges to get
them to me. On the other hand, I know they will just get thrown away
if I don’t claim them, and I hate the affects of waste on the
environment. As I already dropped a brand new camera somewhere in the
Colorado River this summer, I’ve exceeded any environmental margin of
error we each may be granted. Plus, there is the nagging feeling I’ve
had for a while that I may have early Alzheimer’s. I usually do a
visual sweep of the hotel room before I head out the door. I hate to
pay for a doctor’s appointment, and I don’t know if the test they can
do for Alzheimer’s is conclusive anyways, which makes it worthless. On
the other hand, if they don’t have a baseline on the current strength
of my memory, I don’t know how they’ll be able to track my decline. As
I was puzzling this out, I saw my toothbrush pouch on the bed, right
in front of me. This, of course, is even stronger, more alarming
evidence that my memory is fleeing like a Middle East dictator. I must
have taken it out of the suitcase seconds before. Still, so long as I
don’t have to remember to call the hotel in Ephrata, I’m happy.
I loved the audiences in Ephrata, Pennsylvania. I did two shows.
The second show was only half full, but it included a man named Randy,
who owned a business called Leather Pro. It’s not what you think. He
removes stains and scuffs from leather furniture. He must disappoint a
lot of callers.
I spent a lot of the night trying to perfect my pronunciation of
their town’s name. Every one of my mispronunciations was more lovely
than the correct one. While I sat in a rocking chair in front of the
hotel, watching a horse and buggy plod up the street, a woman
approached and greeted me. She lives in Blue Ball, Pennsylvania, which
I can easily pronounce, but just can’t fathom.
The Ephrata Main Theatre is a restored Art Deco gem. I had dinner
from Lily’s Restaurant, which is also owned by the theatre owner,
Steve. I ordered the Summer Salad and the liver. It was unbelievable.
Steve said that my choice of liver was unusual. He said hardly anyone
ever orders the liver, but that if they took it off of the menu,
people would get mad. I thought that was a striking characteristic of
this small community. They are people who do not want to eat liver,
but want to know that they could, whenever they do want to. You don’t
find that just everywhere. Steve, the owner, was great. As he drove me
the forty minutes or so to Ephrata from the Harrisburg airport, he
mentioned that they have the largest Walmart in Pennsylvania, nearby.
Once we pulled off the highway, we saw a woman in a dress and a
bonnet, riding a bike with a box roped to her back. Steve knew
instantly that she was a Mennonite, and that she was headed for the
Walmart. In fact, she did turn at the Walmart. That’s quite a gift. I
don’t know what you can use it for, but it’s quite a gift.
On Thursday night I was in Chicago Illinois taping NPR’s “Wait,
Wait Don’t Tell Me.” It is an unbelievably fun job, and Charlie
Pierce, and Kyrie O’Connor were particularly funny on this one.
Afterwards, as we often get to, we stood around chatting with audience
members. I took a couple of pictures with a very nice audience member,
who reached into her bag, and gave me, quite unexpectedly, an Oscar
Mayer Wiener whistle. She said she used to drive the Oscar Mayer
Wiener Mobile. Steve probably would have known that.
Do you know, people often thank me for coming to their theatre? I
have the greatest job in the world, partly because I get to talk to
other people about their jobs, and their lives. I miss my children
when I am away from them, but I’m usually only gone a couple of nights
a week, if that. This three night jaunt is unusual, and I am smart
enough to know that I am incredibly lucky to be able to go to Chicago,
Illinois; Ephrata, Pennsylvania; and Madison, Wisconsin. I can’t wait
to tell my little jokes tonight.l

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Ya, Baby, Vegas Jan 22 & 23 Orleans

Management — Fri, 31 Dec 2010 20:05:03 +0000

The hottest show in town!

http://www.orleanscasino.com/whats-new/events/paula-poundstone-jan-22-23

Vegas PAULA BILLBOARD DEC 29-.pdf

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In The Know

Paula — Sun, 31 Oct 2010 07:42:57 +0000

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Chef Inspired Soups

Paula — Tue, 14 Sep 2010 17:22:48 +0000

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