Toast and other musings

Toast never showed up last night. I worried that maybe he was toast.

(Crickets.)

(Crickets.)

He is back this evening. Maybe he was trapped in another room last night.

I worked a shift in the restaurant of the B&B where I am staying today. It was fun, actually, and I had only minor flashbacks to the last real table-waiting job I had. It was at the Blue Water Grill in New York, and was such a nightmare experience, that I realized today I had completely blanked out on most of what made it so bad. The family of restaurants it is a part of has gotten lots of bad press about the way they treat their employees, so it is nice to know that it wasn’t just me.

But this was low key and casual, and I get to meet new, interesting people, so for that it seems worth it. The woman who trained me looked about 26. A weathered 26 – too much makeup, a bit drawn and bony – but young. When she mentioned her fourteen-year old son, I thought maybe I’d misheard her. Later I managed to find out that she was indeed thirty-seven, and had actually had two sons but the older one (seventeen) had died recently. I couldn’t bring myself to ask how. I really wasn’t sure what to say.

It made me think about the fact that at my age she’d had a ten-year-old and a seven-year-old. And presumably a husband and a house (I didn’t ask). And I thought about the things that at this age I consider my proudest accomplishments: traveling parts of Europe and the Middle East on my own; setting up house (metaphorically of course) in two major cities – and finding friends, work, and a community in both these places; really every directing project I do, though some more than others and especially the Shakespeare; even writing my little articles every month for the Hill newspaper, I’m proud of that.

And then I thought about the things that I feel I have not achieved that make thirty feel like a big looming deadline: I still have to search for work; I don’t have a secure artistic home; I haven’t mastered a language other than English; I still haven’t read any of the great Russian novels even though every year I vow to start; I’d like to do more freelance writing for larger venues; I want to see other parts of the world – haven’t been further than Prague in Eastern Europe and have never been to Latin or South America or to Asia; and I haven’t been to the opera since high school.

Some of these things are easier goals to meet than others.

And then I thought, does this woman long for similar things? (Warning: some of this may come across as somewhat condescending. It is not intended to be so.) Or is she happy? (Save for the tragic loss of a son, which of course would devastate anyone). I wondered if having high-falootin’ goals and visions of what life should be is a blessing or a curse. And I wondered why none of my proudest achievements or immediate goals involved settling down or having children. Should they?

And yet I am not a pedigreed high achiever. No ivy degree. I wouldn’t qualify for the wedding pages of the NY Times Sunday Styles. My bookshelf is full, but the books are not impressive tomes about history or philosophy or economic theory – they are all geared towards theater or else they are contemporary fiction, mostly by rather depressive jews and half jews. I have never written a book, I haven’t started a non-profit, I don’t own an apartment, I have no titles.

I feel a bit trapped in the middle. Sometimes I wish I had swung more clearly one way or the other.

In other news I started reading the Australian novel CLOUDSTREET. I am enjoying it very much.

My four print lines of fame...

Check out the article about the Capial Fringe Festival in today (Thursday's) Stye section of the Washington Post, for a scintllating quote from yours truly where I manage to talk about my two favorite things -- theater and food -- all in one blurb.

The Rose Room and 7-11

It occurred to me tonight that I can write blog entires from the warmth of my little rose bedroom then mosey on over to the one BS hotspot and post them whenever I want. Even late at night apparently, since “You can walk the streets at any time in BS”. Or so I’m told. So different than Capitol Hill, where I worry about walking from the metro after 11pm.

We just had our third night of rehearsal. I’m so happy with the cast I chose. It has already settled into that place where I can’t imagine having cast anyone else in these roles, which is a really good thing.

I had put together a breakdown of the Louisiana accent, based on some books I have and the knowledge I retained from my classes with our goddess of accents and dialects at school, Mary. I wanted to have her check it over first, but have not been able to reach her and am pretty confident that nothing on the sheet is incorrect. I even included all the phonetic breakdowns of all the vowel substitutions, and was happy to realize that I remembered nearly all of my IPA (International Phonetic Alphabet). I couldn’t remember exactly how to draw the symbol for the “th” sound, so I kind of made up a little thing that looks like the symbol for woman. I know it is something like that. And none of the cast actually knows IPA. But it made me feel well trained to do so anyhow.

I have had glorious amounts of time during the day to do work like this. Oh for a day when I can spend all of my time directing, and preparing to direct! It is so nice to walk into the rehearsal space and feel really, truly prepared for the evening. I wish it were par the course rather than a luxury. Most of the time though I am having to run from some day job or another, and preoccupied with whether I am even going to make it on time.

Someday.

Tonight the woman with three kids brought her ten year old to rehearsal. Adorable kid, very attentive and patient, and when he got bored he’d go to the corner of the room and practice karate. Almost made me wish I had one myself. Then my ovaries started to hurt again and I rethought that urge.

More on the rose bedroom – I am staying at a B&B here in town where they have generously put me up as a sponsorship for the show. It is a charming room. Indeed, very pink, with a rose motif. Because it is still off-season, I am the only one here during the week, which is a little spooky at night when I am all alone in a big house with a restaurant filled with humming refrigerators downstairs. My host said I could help myself to anything from the kitchen whenever I want. Last night I ventured past the meat slicer (really) to one of the giant refrigerators, and hunted for twenty minutes to find some bread and already sliced swiss cheese. I am not sure it was worth the effort. Because I am on a bizarre eating schedule now, I am always hungry after rehearsal, and no restaurants are open this late (this late being 10pm. Oh for a Tunni’s or Amsterdam falafel right now!) So, needless to say, the 7-11 across the street is my friend. I have already sampled every variety of baked chips (they have Baked Lay’s AND Baked Doritos) and tonight I tried the soy chips (yeah, soy chips in West Virginia). My stomach is still growling. But I can’t do the 7-11 again. The counter guy there is starting to give me funny looks.

I need to just buck up and get a good meal before rehearsal at night, but I still have this funny thing about eating alone in sit down restaurants. Coffee shops and places with counters are fine, but places where you sit down and order make me feel lonely. It’s silly, I know.

Lots of alone time here. I’m not used to that. It’s good for me I think, but hard nonetheless. I am used to being able to sit down with a beer after a rehearsal (and a Tunnicliff’s tuna melt. Mmmm.) and more importantly – having people to sit down and share that beer with. I feel a sort of general loneliness here that I have not experienced for a while. The same kind of feeling I have when I have traveled for a while on my own. It’s not a bad thing, just different. And the best thing that comes out of it is an awareness of how lucky I am to spend most of my life surrounded by friends and colleagues that I adore. I miss them all right now.

Oh, but notice must be paid to my one house companion, “Toast”, a big orange cat. He is usually asleep on my bed when I get back at the end of the night, but I haven’t seen him yet tonight. Maybe I’ll go find him.

Meow.

The Wifi Fairy

... has smiled on me. I just went into Fairfax coffee, the one coffee shop in town (which I love, already, by the way) and suddenly I'm picking up a new signal. So I can type and still feel circulation in my limbs, both good things.

"Pack everything, pack fast, and don't judge..."

I wish I'd found the moving lady's link above, last week BEFORE my move. I totally judge everything as I pack. I give myself too much time to linger on love and hate notes that emerge from the nooks and crannies of my life, I wax sentimental about costumes from shows I've directed that appear in the back of my closet, about books I've read, about photographs and mix cd's. I guess I sort of relish that "This is your life" time. The moving lady would be so disapointed...

I am sitting on a bench in what seems to be the only wireless bubble in Berkeley Springs, right in front of "Homeopathy Works". It's cold, and I'm in the shade, and I wish I were warm and comfy in an armchair in Murky Coffee on the Hill.

Ah well.

So many adjustments in the last five days. Moving apartments in DC AND moving down here to West Virginia, temporarily at least. I should stop into Homeopathy Works and see if they have something to balance out my chi. Or whatever. Or take a dip in the healing waters (which I do intend to do, as soon as things settle into a more stable pace.)

The move went shockingly well (so far at least - we'll see, I still haven't turned in the keys to the old place, so there is still room for some small disaster. Positive thinking there.)

As I was packing (a job which was reserved until Sunday am -- the day of the afternoon of which I was to do the move) I did a quick count in my head. I've moved 19 times in the past eleven years. Now, the first few times it was into dorms or furnished apartments, so it was something of a modified move. But it still required packing boxes, and loading trucks or trailers, and throwing out single socks and knick knacks like honeysuckle scented candles or styrofoam snowmen that I'd kept around for unknown and unspoken reasons. There is some comfort in the thought that all the practice has made me more efficient. I do now have a system. Albeit, a system which includes saving packing for the day of the move (where am I going to put all the packed boxes ahead of time, anyhow, smarties??!!)

But I at least got everything into the new apartment, scoped out the hood, made my mark as one more poster child of gentrification in DC, and headed back here to West Virginie. My new place is on a corner graced with a KFC AND a Dominos... it seems to smell like fried chicken at all times. Hmmm.

So I'm here, and rehearsals are going well. The ladies are great -- six women of vast and varied backgrounds (including an acupuncturist, a graphic designer, a registered nurse (retired), a dog groomer, a school teacher, and a 28-year-old mother of three (ouch). My ovaries hurt just thinking about it.

They are ready and willing and smart and spirited. I hope I can continue to engage and challenge them.

More to come, maybe from the public library. My fingers are cramping from the cold wind, and the Homeopathy Works people are starting to give me funny looks...

Lost Post (Reward if found)

I just finished a long post about my weekend move and my first days in Berkeley Spring. Both were fascinating -- cliffhangers really. Lost it when trying to spell check. Grrr.

I'll be back tomorrow. The library is the only place I can get on the internet here. I've already well used up my time. Tomorrow, one of the women who were "disgruntled" by my casting choices will be here. That should be fun.

More to come, I promise...

DC = Mental Health Capital of the US

(see link above)
Are they KIDDING? I swear, there are so many of these "Most Livable Cities" rankings, that eventually they all see to cancel each other out. Just a few months ago DC was #2 on the most dangerous cities list, which really makes me question the perfect 100 score for Mental Health. Or maybe we are all just so glad that we have made it through another day without getting caught in the crossfire of gang warfare that we reach a sort of blissful euphoria? I mean, really, where do they come up with that score? Is it based on the number of people on mood altering drugs? Or determined by surveys about stress levels? Come on, you can not tell me that this city is a universally happy, stable, or even sane city!

For the record, here is my list of top five detractors from mental stability when living in the District of Columbia (in no particular order):

1. Cabs. Can't live with 'em, can't ever find 'em. I have so many points of contention with the DC cabs, that this could be a category of its own. Firstly, you can NEVER, EVER find one when you want one. EVER. Then the mother-friggin zone system. I've been here three years and I still don't get it. Add to that the fact that every cab driver spends the duration of nearly every ride on their cell phone head set, and the whole, "We can stop and pick someone else up if it doesn't take you out of your way" weirdness, and my goodness, you gotta wonder whether maybe rickshaws would work better in this city.

2. Tourists. I won't get into this one. It would be mean. Suffice it to say that come spring time, they're here, they're big, they're slow, they're everywhere. I would make fun of their general state of Metro confusion, but my own mother lost her card when she visited me last fall. How difficult a concept is it? You need the card to get in, you need the card to get out.

3. Speaking of -- the Metro. I don't care that it's clean. I don't care that they tell you when the next train is coming. It doesn't get you where you need to go, and it only runs 'til midnight.

4. Humidity. I moved here in august several years ago. Two years before I'd spent an August in Israel. DC was worse.

5. Finally, oh good god why do all the interns have to come here!!!??? I am sure they are good people, and that some are even concerned about the world and the role they play in it, but they seem to suddenly infest the hill, and they make me feel old and fat and unfashionable, when most of the rest of DC makes me feel just the opposite…

VERY CLOSE LIST RUNNER-UPS:
-DC Rents
-the lack of good Italian restaurants
-Safeway supermarkets
-Adams Morgan on the weekend (where do they all come from!!??)

Having written this post, I feel the need to do a “five things about DC that improve my mental health” list. Give me a few days, I’m sure I can find them.

Will Someone Please Explain for me

So, Brownback says in the article above, "I have been and continue to be a strong believer and protector of traditional marriage. I think it's an important issue for society and for the country." But is the issue about promoting marriage or about excluding gay couples from any of the rights and expectations that come with "being married". How can the right push marriage down our throats (and the ad campaign that has been running in DC -- "Marriage Works" -- does just that, to the point where you think you are going to wretch if you see one more of their stupid Kodak-posed moments in the Metro stations) and at the very same time deny gay couples marriage rights. The logic breaks down for me.

Okay, if we say:

1. Marriage is good. It promotes healthy relationships and stable families (or so we'll say for the sake of argument.)

2. Homosexuality exists. It does. Same sex couples are around, always have been -- and they always will be. Sometimes I think there are people in our country who think that the homosexual population will just vanish if they wish it for long enough. But, ummm, they won't. They will continue to gain acceptance (albeit, slowly, perhaps) and prominence. They will not disappear.

3. So operating on those two assumptions, wouldn't it follow that the same people promoting the virtues of marriage would be ENCOURAGING same sex couples to embrace that lifestyle (or at least someone other than Andrew Sullivan)? See, that's what I don't get. Why is it so good for the goose, but absolutely forbidden for the gander?

I understand that within certain religions, people would say, no, we won't accept that as a viable form of marriage. Take your rainbow flags somewhere else. And then said couple can decide to look around for a religious institution that will recognize their union, or not.

But why are so many people so concerned about two people being recognized by the state as a legal union? How will that hurt them, or infringe upon their own personal rights, or make this country a less desirable place to live? If anyone can explain it to me, I’m all ears.

Suburban Mecca

I love Panera bread (which actually means, "Bread, Bread", a friend pointed out.) They have free internet wifi and employees so friendly it is nearly disarming. Almost tempts one to move out to the 'burbs.

Almost.

These things are addictive

You Belong in 1970

1970 If you scored... 1950 - 1959: You're fun loving, romantic, and more than a little innocent. See you at the drive in! 1960 - 1969: You are a free spirit with a huge heart. Love, peace, and happiness rule - oh, and drugs too. 1970 - 1979: Bold and brash, you take life by the horns. Whether you're partying or protesting, you give it your all! 1980 - 1989: Wild, over the top, and just a little bit cheesy. You're colorful at night - and successful during the day. 1990 - 1999: With you anything goes! You're grunge one day, ghetto fabulous the next. It's all good!

What Year Do You Belong In?

Rats... Nothing But Rats

Last night, walking home from the gym, I noticed that a small crowd had gathered around the store front window of a small Fed Ex/Copy store on a commercial stretch near my home. From a distance (and with contact lenses that should have been thrown out a good three weeks ago) it looked like there was a tiny kitty perched on the large copier closest to the picture window. I thought, "Awww, the little guy is in there all alone, and he's probably terrified".

As I got closer I realized that the kitty was a rat. A big rat.

He seemed to be okay with his ten minutes of fame, staring out, unfazed, meeting the eyes of the passerbys who stopped to watch. Amazed that the rodent would actually be drawn to the light, to the highest plain in the store, that he would welcome the spotlight -- I couldn't help but stop and watch. After a moment I realized that the women next to me was a theater friend from town. She said she'd been watching for a while, that he had not moved from his perch, and she wondered if maybe we was high on toner fumes.

At the mention of being high, Mr. Rat chuckled a low pitched, burnt out giggle. Heh-heh-heh-heh. Fortunate for him, when he gets the munchies, Mr. Henry's is only two doors down.

(Incidentally, the title of the post is the name of the featured song in the production of The Pied Piper that my brother and I were in in the third grade. He played the Pied Piper, and I played the mayor. The mayor actually had more lines. I know, because I counted, and I told everyone. As I recall, I got to pound a gavel alot (which was actually a meat pounder/tenderizer that I 'd stolen from home) and I wore a small, little girl-size suit. Because that's what mayors do. Pound gavels and wear suits. I am not quite sure why I even had a suit, since I don't own one now. I think my brother had to wear tights, and learn how to play the recorder. This was all, of course, a great improvement over the show we'd done the year before -- The Littlest Christmas Tree. Which, now that I think about it, probably should never have been done in a public school in the first place.)

Your Linguistic Profile:

55% General American English

20% Yankee

15% Upper Midwestern

5% Dixie

5% Midwestern

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

Interesting. Four years of drama school wrestling the accent out of me, and I managed to clock in at 55% "standard american" (which I think is actually pretty good, considering you can take the girl out of upstate NY, but it's very hard to take the upstate NY out of the girl).

Worthwhile

How can one read the above article and not question whether their life serves any purpose. And I generally think that my life actually does have the potential for meaning.

I am not naive enough to say that theatre can save the world, but I do think it can serve a number of other purposes -- including making people laugh, think and discuss -- three things that do, in fact, make the world a better place.

The argument against theatre actually serving any purpose is that more often than not we are preaching to the choir. Which is true, sure. But sometimes the choir needs preaching to.

Anyhow, when I read something like this I wonder why I am not doing more. I don't have any reason not to -- no family of my own or obligations, really. I guess we pick our battles.

Pearly Whites

I have soft teeth. I have to believe I do. An endodontrist yelled at me once when I said that -- "There's no such thing! You are relinquishing responsibility for your own teeth!" Geesh. I didn't realize there was such a debate surrounding the issue. But that is what dentists had been telling me for years. And it looks like I am not alone. Check out the title link.

See!? See!!!

Anyhow, today, for the first time since puberty, I was given "good news" about my teeth. I went in for a routine cleaning -- which is rare, since I am usually in a state of some dental crises -- and after looking over my mouth full of work (three root canals, ergo, three crowns, odd extractions, teeth that never actually came in, and completely vanity driven veneers, which I have to say are cosmetic dentistry masterpieces) my dentist said, "You might be in the clear for a while...!"

Apparently the whole cavity thing tapers off after your twenties. So there you have it -- a reason to look forward to thirty. And since all the work that was a result of my early years with, yes, say it, yes, believe it -- soft teeth -- has been done and redone finally with root canals and crowns, as long as that all holds up, well I may not be under the drill for a good few years.

But I'm not holding my breath.

Enjoying it while we can...

The Nat's won again last night. Wash Post coverage follows the title link (someday maybe I'll learn how to place links in other places than the title).

My brother and father have shown varying degrees of support for the National's. As baseball aficionados (and really, that word doesn't quite do justice to the fervor my sibling and dad direct at the sport), I would think they would be jazzed by this monumental step in baseball history. Our Nation's game returns to our Nation's capitol. It's an underdog team. The stadium is currently located smack dab in the center of urban blight (not out in the burbs, or in a smaller nearby city as it is in many locations) so, really, in an underdog neighborhood. We are a poor team, in a poor city. Everyone loves the underdog, so what's not to like about the Nationals??

Yes -- I had mixed feelings about the money directed towards the whole baseball effort in light of the fact that schools, city programs, public transportation -- all of that is severely under-funded in DC. But once the debate was closed, how can you NOT support the team? And since moving to Capitol Hill three years ago, I have marveled at each new uniquely DC, really -- uniquely Capitol Hill -- phenomenon I have experienced:

Exhibit A: Gentrification. (A.k.a. Urban Renewal.) Whatever you want to call it. I think the Hill does it better than other places. Still no chain restaurants (save for Starbucks). All independently owned businesses. A generally slow and steady pace. It's been cool to watch. The streetlamps on Barrack's Row are a little too precious, but other than that, I support the sense of community behind the change. The property rates are ridiculous, but that goes for anywhere in DC.

Exhibit B: The election. That was fascinating to watch from anywhere in this country. Depressing. Sad. All of those things. But the hill was a particularly interesting place to have been during that time. Frankly, it is one of few places in the city where there are Republicans (parts of the Hill, at least). I think the rest of them live in Virgina. Where they belong. Or maybe parts of upper northwest... like Tenleytown, which always feels a bit frattish anyway.

and now Exhibit C: Baseball. Yesterday I had to remind myself that I supported the emergence of baseball in this city, when I went down to get on the Eastern Market metro and was suddenly surrounded by hordes of what appeared to be game-goers, decked out in National's gear. One particularly annoying woman didn't know how to use the metro card machine, so she was going from one to the next pushing buttons and feeding dollars into the wrong slots. She was about thirty-five, had her hair in pigtails and was wearing a Nat's cap. Also wearing khaki shorts. Ewwww. Note to self: once I turn thirty, never again should I wear pigtails. Second note to self: get rid of the khaki shorts I bought from banana republic when I was a sophomore in college.

Anyhow, I can't wait until I actually make it to a game, though that probably won't be until June. And we'll see how they keep up their (short-lived) success. As my brother put it (who was the point of this post in the first place):

"Yes, we decided, as the rest of the National League East, to let Washington enjoy the first week or two of its inaugural season at the top. Unfortunately, it wont last, because, in the end, they are still the Montreal Expos..."

Whatever. He's just jealous that there is no team in Washington Heights.

Scary

Follow the title link to an article about the rise of Ipod thefts in the DC area.

I literally have nightmares about someone stealing my computer. Wake-up-in-a-cold-sweat-has-this-really-happened-? nightmares. I think that's kind of pathetic

Wild, Wonderful West Virginia

That is apparently the tourist slogan for West Virginia. Or at least that's what the sign that displays the time outside of the bank proclaims on Main Street, Berkeley Springs. Which is where I will be spending the next five weeks of my life.



Where to begin?

I am starting this blog because I will be away and alone in a town that is, really, unlike any place I have ever lived before. And it seems like a good way to give the people that I am lately so terrible about keeping in touch with a glimpse into what my life is like here (there?). Maybe this will end when I return to DC. Maybe I will only keep it up when I work on shows out of town. We'll see.

But I vow not to include information about my personal life (because really, who cares?), or about anyone else's personal life, or anything incriminating or insulting about any of the people I meet or work with here, or elsewhere for that matter. Deal? Deal. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. I've seen too many blogs go awry, and not everyone ends up getting a book deal like Jessica Cutler.

So, I head back to DC for my last week in civilization tomorrow morning, after three days in the WV. I'd never been to West Virginia before, at least not that I remember. I think I drove through once. And first I must say -- it is really beautiful here. As an East Coast girl who is easily pleased by foothills (and more than willing to call them mountains) I was quickly wooed by the terrain, the trees, the clear and starry night skies... it truly is lovely. The home I stayed in this time around is gorgeous, built by an urban DC couple who still commute back and forth regularly, so they have the tastes of Cap Hill dwellers on the property of WV natives -- which is the perfect combination. The romantic in me can idealize it, "Yeah, I could do this, live in a beautiful house on the top of a hill in the middle of nowhere... with Wifi, and a phenomenal kitchen... sure... I'd escape, I'd write a play, I'd cook, and I'd learn Italian (three things I always think I want to do, but can only imagine doing if I lived on a hill in the middle of nowhere)." But of course, I'd be itching for a downtown and a metro system in no time, which is probably why said couple still commutes back and forth regularly. And besides, I couldn't afford a house like the house in my dream. Maybe a trailer.

Now mind you, this dreaminess is the "house on the hill". Entering the actual town is an entirely different experience. I can hardly scratch the surface in one post. The headline gives a good start, "Wild and wonderful West Virginia". That is said without even the slightest hint of irony. And that's what makes it TRULY wonderful.

I am here to direct a play. It is a play about women in the south kvetching about their lives while in a hair salon. Only they wouldn't ever use the word "kvetch". I don't think there are any Jewish people in Berkeley Springs. There don't appear to be any black people. The Mexican restaurant on main street (right between the new-agey crystal shop and the classic movie theater that shows a different movie every week for $3.50 a ticket) tips me off to the possibility that there might be a few Latinos. Though in three days, I certainly haven't seen any.

This place is all at once bizarre and fascinating and charming and creepy. One of the women I am working with, who moved here about a year ago from DC said she felt like in living here, she had stepped into a Christopher Guest movie. I cannot imagine a more apt description. The funny thing is the reaction that people have when they hear I come from DC. "Ohhhh. DC." Like it is the bustling metropolis of the modern world. Now, DC has grown on me, but I still find it to be a pretty provincial town, without the truly urban feel of NY or even Chicago. Maybe the provincial feel is what I like about it. But knowing how disdainfully my NY friends look on DC, like it may as well be West Virginia, it made me laugh to see DC perceived as "the city". I mean, we have a Kiehl's and a baseball team now, which makes it a much more viable city than it ever was before (and as I write this, I believe the Nat's are still first in their division) but still, DC is not, and never really will be "the city". Funny how it is all about perception and what you know and understand.

Tuneful

They recently dedicated an entire NY Times article to what George Bush was listening to on his Ipod. It was a predictably dull list, mostly 70's classic rock and some country. The one interesting mention was Joni Mitchell. Not Big Yellow Taxi, of course. I was surprised that he only had 250 songs loaded. Surprised but not. I mean, I guess he has other things to be doing besides downloading songs. I mean, he does, right? I know there is a way to post the URL link to the article, but I don't know how to, and the article is not interesting enough to make it worth my while.

I am still lamenting my lack of Ipod. I should have one with the computer I have. It seems kind of ridiculous not to. And I swear, the little priveleged eight-year-olds listening to their Ipods on the NY subway laugh when they see my discman. "Grandma".

Instead I make mix after mix (and I've probably spent as much on blank cd's as I could have on a shuffle. But Noooo, I don't want a shuffle. I want to indulge my control issues, and get an ipod where I can PICK my playlist. La dee da.) My Ipod envy is embarrassing. It's unattractive. I drool when I see the pretty colored ones.

Anyhow, this is my most recent mix list. It would be my playlist if someone wrote a NY Times article about me, and the playlist that I don't actually have.

Suddenly Everything Has Changed – Postal Service
Toto Dies – Nellie NcKay
Pictures in an Exhibition – Death Cab for Cutie
Chelsea Morning – Emiliana Torrini
I’m Gonna Run – The Fiery Furnaces
Work Song – Nellie NcKay
Clark Gable –Postal Service
Single Again – The Fiery Furnaces
Love is no big Truth – King of Convenience
Sleeping In – Postal Service
Gale Blow – Fiery Furnaces
Manhattan Avenue – Nellie McKay
Don’t Dance Her Down – The Fiery Furnaces
I Wanna Get Married – Nellie McKay
Angel Pumping Gas – Postal Service
Manhattan Skyline – Kings of Convenience
Hindsight – Death Cab for Cutie
There’s Never Enough Time – Postal Service
Homesick – Kings of Convenience

I really like Nellie McKay. I have also been listening to some Bright Eyes lately. When I mentioned this to a friend a little while ago, he pointed out that they are both about a decade younger than I am. Thanks.

Westward Ho

Not pioneer west, just West Virginia. This is my lazy way of keeping people up to date with my time spent in West Virginia -- a bit this month, more next month, directing a show in Berkeley Springs, WVa.

Some facts about West Virginia:
* West Virginia is the only state in the Union to have acquired its sovereignty by proclamation of the President of the United States.
*West Virginia is considered the southern most northern state and the northern most southern state.
*West Virginia has the oldest population of any state. The median age is 40.
*The first federal prison exclusively for women in the United States was opened in 1926 in West Virginia.
*Nearly 75% of West Virginia is covered by forests.
*According to the crime index for 1997, West Virginia had the lowest crime rate in the country.
*West Virginia has an mean altitude of 1,500 feet, giving it the highest average altitude east of the Mississippi.
*The first spa open to the public was at Berkeley Springs, West Virginia, in 1756 (then, Bath, Virginia). (woo-hoo! That's Berkeley Springs!!)
*The Christian Church was begun in West Virginia by Alexander Campbell in Bethany. (I don't understand this. Wasn't the Christian church started when Christ died and some of his followers split from judaism and started eating pork and lobster? This is, I guess, where my lack of religious education fails me. What do they MEAN?)
*Mrs. Minnie Buckingham Harper, a member of the House of Delegates by appointment in 1928, was the first African American woman to become a member of a legislative body in the United States. (who knew?)

On the flip side, there are some things that they don't post on the tourist websites:

*According to a site that compiles hate groups, West Virginia hosts the following doozies:
(N) National Alliance, Hillsboro
(O) Wheeling's Warriors
(O) The Mountain Men
(M) The Unorganized Militia of West Virginia
(K) Keystone Knights of the KKK, Fairmont
(K) Knights of the KKK, Ronceverte
(K) Unified KKK, Elkins
(N) SS Action Group, Morgantown

The codes are as follows:
M means militia group.
K means Ku Klux Klan or Klan-related group.
N means Nazi or Neo-Nazi/Anti-Semitic group.
O means "Other" groups, including anti-gay, black racialists and paramilitary

So that's eight. Now, to be fair, according to this site (which is by no means all inclusive) New York has fourteen such groups. But when you think about the fact that the population of NY state is about ten times the population of West Virginia, and the number of hate groups is not even doubled, well, it puts things in perspective. And western NY can be a scary place. Might as well be West Virginia.

*According to 2001 survey results, West Virginia, clocking in with 24.6% of it's population ranking as "obese" is, proportionately, the fattest state in America. Although it looks like every other state is doing it's best to catch up.

*West Virginia was ranked 33rd "smartest" state in 2004. Which of course also makes it the 17th dumbest. It did beat Florida, and California.