Starring...Me.

A meme I stole from my friend T-Ro, the internet addict.
(Meme's are good because they allow you to share without requiring that you organize your thoughts...)

1. When you looked at yourself in the mirror today, what was the first thing you thought?
My eyes look red. I hope there isn't something wrong with these new contacts.

2. How much cash do you have on you?
Ummm, really? $2.86. All change.

3. What's a word that rhymes with "TEST"?
Is this supposed to reveal some freudian subtext? Okay, "Rest".

4. Favorite planet?
Jupiter (I always liked the spot).

5. Who is the 4th person on your missed call list on your cell?
MJ

6. What is your favorite ring on your phone?
Greensleeves. I would never actually use it, but it's there.

7. What kind of shirt are you wearing?
Brown v-neck from H&M.

8. Do you "label" yourself?
Can you repeat the question?

9. Name the brand of your shoes you're currently wearing?
Laundry. See below.

10. Bright or dark room?
What kind of room am I in right now? Bright.

11. What do you think about the person who took this survey before you?
He really is addicted to the internet.

13. what happened to number 12?
It got mangled in a horrible cut and paste incident.

14. What were you doing at midnight last night?
Drinking at Tunnicliff's.

15. What did your last text message you received on your cell say?
"Tunnicliff's?"

16. Where is your nearest 7-11?
Barrack's Row on Capitol Hill. It's a sort of shady 7-11 and too far to be a convenient walk.

17. What's a saying that you say a lot?
Oh gosh, I don't know. Someone else will have to tell me something that I say a lot.

18.Who told you they loved you last?
My mom.

19. Last furry thing you touched?
Franny, my parent's cat.

20. How Many Drugs Have You Done In The Past three Days?
Beer.Two pints.

21. How many rolls of film do you need to get developed?
In my room, anything is possible. Two? Eight? Sixteen?

22. Favorite age you have been so far?
I don't play favorites.

23. Your worst enemy?
Procrastination. Yep. Exactly.

24. What is your current desktop picture?
The Folger Theater. (Not my choice.)

25. What was the last thing you said to someone?
"Cool, yeah, I'll sneak in the back and watch."

26. If you had to choose between a million bucks or to be able to change a major regret?
Yeah, ummm, the million dollars. I don't really believe in regrets anyhow.

27. Do you like or love somebody right now?
Yes, many people.

Trains and Busses

It is almost the new year and I don't want to get too deep into what that means on a grand scale, or more, what that means to me on a personal level. There is a lot about the close of this year that I have not yet sorted out for myself. Maybe when I do I'll share some more. Or maybe not.

I have been having the most bizarre dreams lately. I thought it was just because I was at home and sleeping in themostcomfortablebedintheworld at my parent's house. They have like, two extra down mattress pads on the thing so it feels very princess and the pea. I have, in no particular order, in the past week dreamed about: panda bears, root canals, GI Jane exercise classes, video games, the marketing of tampons, and nearly every ex I can remember. None of them have been really bad dreams, except for one of the ex dreams. I don't write my dreams down (I know I should) so I don't remember the details with enough clarity to try and track down the symbolism at work with any of them.

The rest of the holiday weekend was peaceful and low key. On Monday we went into the city again, so I could follow through on the gift I was giving my parents which was to be tickets to a show. The selection on TKTS (hey remember, "starving artist" here) was much less exciting than it had been on the Friday I passed through town, and we ended up deciding on Doubt.

Cherry Jones would be leaving her role after the first week of the New Year, and my brother's girlfriend is preparing to do the role of the young nun in Europe, so for a number of reasons it seemed like a good idea.

And it was. It was an engaging, well acted, well staged, well designed play. It did not shake up my world, though it did keep us talking for a portion of the train ride back upstate. My friend arctic actor has a much stronger opinion regarding the siege of the one word titled plays in New York, most of which I agree with, and he says (writes) it with more careful thought and panache than I could.

It is a fine play. And sure, it won like, every award a play can win this past year. And it is a fine play. So, maybe there will not be a Death of a Salesman or Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf or Angels in America every year. Of course there won't be. And so the awards sometimes go to very fine plays.

It was a nice day in the city. I got a pair of boots at Loehman's (they were nowhere near even the Zappos price, trust me) which I am wearing today for the first time and very aware of the concept of modern day foot binding and corseting (heels! heels! heels!) But I love them so I'll learn to walk in them.

Judging by the brief bit of shopping we managed in the city, cowboy boots are very in this season. Chaps? Maybe not so much (natch, MB).

We ate mass produced chinese food at Ollie's as a tribute to my father's Jewish roots (the day after Christmas is not quite the same as the 25th, but we tried) and braved the wicked winds that whipped through the city streets.

Tuesday I headed back to DC. The trip felt long and bloated (train, train station, starbucks, bus station, bus, bus station) but I made it back just in time for a lovely dinner with my friends J and K and AP. We ate at Mama Ayesha's, which I have walked past hundreds of times during my four years in DC, but had never yet managed to venture inside. I've always been something of a loyalist to Lebanese Taverna (which I still love) so if I was going to do middle eastern food in Adams Morgan it was destined to be LT (or on the cheap, Amsterdam Falafel). Mama Ayesha's was a nice surprise. They have a funny waterfall fountain thing and rather over the top middle eastern decor but it was great food and equally great company.

I just started rehearsals for the fifteen minute musical I am doing in January. More on that, I am sure, is to come. But the important thing is, I am back, hopefully mentally as well as physically. It was nice to be home, but it is nice to be back (and really, isn't this home now?) though I do indeed miss the princess and the pea bed.

Home for the Holidays

Twenty-five observations about my trip to Poughkeepsie

1. I haven’t stopped eating since I got here.
2. On the way up here I spent the day in New York City.
3. In NY I saw the 25th Putnam County Spelling Bee Musical
4. I liked the show a lot.
5. The woman next to me kept talking to her children through the beginning of the show and I turned to them and casually mentioned that people are not supposed to talk during a show.
6. I may have sounded a bit condescending when I said that.
7. When the lights went up at the end of the show the woman punched me very hard in the arm and told me that she had a terminal illness so it was okay that she talk during the show. I respectfully disagreed. My father said I should have turned her in for assault but I was too speechless to do or say anything and busy worrying whether my arm would be bruised.
8. If I had six months to live I don’t think I would spend it getting into arguments with strangers in front of my children at public places.
9. We had manicotti for dinner tonight.
10. We also had cannolis that my mom bought from the Italian bakery in Poughkeepsie.
11. I had a drink with my friend, the (former) speech writer boy, at Grand Central Station and he noted that I probably sounded condescending when I said that to the woman because I have a tendency to sound condescending when I am angry.
12. I went to Lenscrafters after the contacts fiasco and discovered that they can’t sell me contacts without a prescription signed by an optometrist.
13. I had to get an eye exam at the mall in Poughkeepsie.
14. The eye doctor who was a little bit flirty but married joked that George Bush was one of few people more myopic than I am.
15. He meant that in the metaphorical sense.
16. It’s pretty rainy and nasty here.
17. Last night I watched the movie musical Carousel on Turner Movie Classics. It has a marvelous score but the book has its issues.
18. Then I watched Sleepless in Seattle.
19. Both Carousel and Sleepless in Seattle made me cry.
20. We went to see Syriana in Hyde Park at what might very well be the smallest movie theater in New York state.
21. The movie was fine, definitely engaging.
22. I am now watching Degrassi Junior High, The Next Generation. I loved Degrassi when I was a kid. Many of the adults were on the original show. They either seem too old or too young to be the grown up versions of the Degrassi kids, but I can’t tell which.
23. Joey Jeremiah got better with age.
24. Degrassi, The Next Generation is now making me cry.
25. Maybe I cry too easily.

Updates

Yeah for wireless web at my parents' house.

There is a Lenscrafters at the Poughkeepsie Gaerria, "across from the Sears". They HAVE to be open on Christmas eve right? I mean lots of people do shopping on Christmas eve, even for glasses and contacts.

Shit.

My glasses are broken. So, if I wear them, my vanity will keep me from leaving the house. So I may stay in doors all weekend. They have silver electrical tape holding them together in the center. Yeah. It looks exactly how you imagine it would. Pretty.

I can pull my prescription off of 1800contacts, but the shop may not have my uber strong legally blind prescription in stock.

I should have brought an extra pair. I should have gotten new glasses when they broke six months ago. I should have been more careful about plugging the sink.

Shoulda, woulda, coulda.

Butterfingers

About three minutes ago I washed the only pair of contacts I have with me down the sink at my parent's home in Poughkeepsie. This is not, obviously, the ideal way to start the weekend. My parents are both asleep so flipping out about it would be for my benefit alone, and perhaps for the amusement of Franny, the cat.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Are Lenscrafters open on Christmas Eve?

Take Two

Yeah, so, I wrote up this whole post this morning about everything I did in the past week and it vanished. Maybe that's a sign that the world doesn't really want to read about my great veggie kibbeh at Zaytinya or the lovely sturgeon I had at Sonoma.

So be it.

Both were lovely evenings, good company, good food. Sonoma still needs to step up to the plate a bit when it comes to service, but I am not complaining as it is a great treat to finally have a decent restaurant on the hill.

Other good news from yesterday:

Judge John E. Jones III rocks my world. He may be a Republican, but as my father would say, "he knows good science".

Restaurant week reservations went up for grabs. I always have very ambitious plans for Restaurant Week (I'll check out a new restaurant every day!! Every lunch! Evry dinner!) and then end up lucky to make one reservation at whatever has a 10pm table left on the final evening of the week. Maybe this year I'll get my act together and book ahead of time. Chances are slim. Since when have I been good at planning ahead?

Highlights of the week (besides Sonoma and Zaytinya):

Sunday was my friend, the Marathon Runner's Nog party. No worries - marathon runners can partake in food and drink like the best of them, and the spread and company were both top notch. I brought my one signature dish, baked brie, which is so friggin' easy I feel kind of guilty when people rave over it. So, here's my little secret - which is now your little secret: Baked Brie for dummies. I use jam, none of the other sweet stuff. It's really good, trust me.

I also brought my friend AP who is in town to direct Measure for Measure. I love that play, mostly because it is so incredibly hard to pull off. I also have a sentimental attachment to it because when I was seventeen I worked on the jail scene (where Isabella's brother asks her to give up her virginity for his life when she's about to become a nun, so it's a really, really big deal) with my own brother at theater camp in Long Island. I am sure that the scene was awful, emoting all over the place and no sense of rhythm, but for me it was revelatory. It was the first time I *got* what all the hub bub about Shakespeare was for.

So we'll see. I have no idea quite what he's doing with the play, but I hear talk of "puppets". "Puppets??" "Yes, puppets".

This is something too that I like about DC. Frequently out of town friends are here to work at one of the theaters in town. So long distance friends, for a spell at least, become neighbors.

Another friend of mine, LH, who I met when I was seventeen at my orientation for the University of Michigan, will be in town for three months working at the other Shakespeare venue. This makes me very happy. We have known each other for a very, very long time. More on that to come, I am sure.

Also, Monday I went to see the Gaithersburg Light Show. Y'all think I am kidding, but I am not.

I may scoff at the baby jesus and drink the blood of christian babies and totally go off on anyone who resists my "Happy Holidays", but I do love me a good light show. It was a trip.

I roped super-mover-man into reserving a zip car for the occasion, so afterwards we went to Chevy's to complete our suburban Maryland experience. I ordered veggie fajitas and Julia, our very vietnamese, very much not Mexican waitress, brought me a trough of food. Seriously, a veritable trough. No wonder we have so many problems with obesity in this country.

The lights were fun and tacky enough to complete my holiday experience.

Nog and blinking lights. What more could I ask for?

Stupid Pop-Up Blocker

I just wrote an awfully long post and it vanished because of a stupid, unnecessary pop-up blocker that doesn't even help with the pop-ups that are really truly annoying. I'll give it another try this afternoon if my blood pressure goes down by then.



Seething. Frustrated. Need help with anger management. Don't even get me started with the whole Merry Christmas/Happy Holiday debate. One little step in the name of inclusion and suddenly the Christians in this country are being persecuted. Ha. Cry me a river.

Stupid debates like this make the baby jesus cry. Really, they do.

Surprises

By some Herculean feat, the Lighting Designer managed to procure tickets to see Butterstick this past Saturday, one of which he very generously made available to me.

Better yet, he kept the whole thing a surprise. Well done Lighting Designer.

He won't tell me what he had to do to get the tickets, but he mumbled something about a clandestine meeting at the Watergate and the donation of a kidney. He assures me that no bodily fluids were exchanged in the transaction, only the kidney.

Who needs two kidneys anyhow? A liver, sure, but an extra kidney?

Butterstick was napping, though I could tell he was very glad that we were there. This is my very bad picture phone's very bad picture of "Panda in a Bowl Under Glass". It was a somewhat surreal experience. The marketing opportunities that the zoo folk have jumped on boggles the mind. "Panda Shop", "Panda Cafe", "Panda Tshirt Stand", really overwhelming. And the crowd mentality of those 30 or so people allowed in for those ten minutes - scary. There was the guy that got the spot in the front and camcordered the sleeping Tai Shan for the full ten minutes, never even considering letting someone else stand in his prime real estate. Ahhh, humanity, warms the cockles of me heart.

But it was delightful to see the little guy. So peaceful, so well adjusted even for his celebrity status. We'll see how my disposable Kodak camera photos turn out and, if they're any good, I'll post them here.

Sigh. Fuzzy panda crush.

The Suffering Artist

Interesting debate going on at dcist over the walkout/strike over at the Washington Ballet.

My comment may be a bit off topic (I haven't followed the dispute enough to have a truly informed opinion) but I happened to read the whole discussion at a time when I have been thinking a lot about all that we have to sacrifice for doing what *we* do. And yet most people outside of the arts still consider us privileged simply for loving what we do.

As if loving what we do will pay the rent.

Anyhow, I probably sound a little bitter, which won't help the matter at all.

One of a series of Washington Post articles that covered the controversy is here.

Holly Jolly

Crap. Why do I get so cranky sometimes?

Getting to work should not be the ordeal it seems to be sometimes. But WHY can't they invent a coffee cup that doesn't burp up little blips of coffee all over my hand as I try to walk and drink? Is that really too much to ask for? I always end up about ten feet away from the Firehook dumping half my coffee out in a burst of frustration.

And here I am at one of my day jobs gritting my teeth through customer questions that are at times, reasonable but still annoying:

"What are the seats like for January's concert? I mean, how comfortable are they? Because I have crutches and I need to know that"

And other times, absurd:

"Are you playing the film Memories of a Gisha [sic] there?"

What?

Anyway, I end up getting short and condescending with everyone, whether their questions are reasonable or not. I am sure there is a bigger lesson at hand here, like the changes I should be making in my life so I don't have to have a "day job" anymore, but I know that, and you know that, and let's just not talk about that.

Anyhow, I should be more grateful and observant of all the things I have to be thankful for and I should not be making jokes about ending my life over socks with jingle bells or christmas trees or whatever.

'Tis the season, you know?

I just finished reading through my friend arctic actor's guest stint at his friend Dan's blog which is a great account of someone living life to the fullest and dealing really well with some pretty major shit. Read that while I whine about meaningless shit.

So, yes, the holidays. Part of my coffee frustration this morning stemmed from the fact that in addition to my computer bag, which is always heavy, because heaven forbid I ever actually clean out my bag of the stuff I don't need, I was carrying a CVS bag full of dry cleaning. Nothing I do requires me to wear clothes that are dry clean only. I could pretty much live in jeans 88% of the time I spend on this planet. Which I like! I appreciate! I am GRATEFUL for.

And yet, somehow, I have ended up with a closet full of clothes that are dry clean only. Does not compute.

And most of these clothes have been in the dry clean only bag since the holidays last year. And then it rolls around to this time of year and things like "come to a holiday party!" come up and I suddenly can't find the skirt with the embroidered flowers or the one with the pink plaid and shit there's that bag of dry cleaning that has been getting tossed around my room for months and maybe it is in there and sure enough it is and totally unwearable at this point since it's more wrinkled than a sharpei and suddenly I have seventy dollars worth of dry cleaning that I am lugging around Capitol Hill.

I know. Grace and ease. Grace and ease.

One such "holiday party" is at the other day job at the law office. Both "day job" "holiday parties" (can you picture that sentence performed with air quotes?) fell on the same day. I elected to go to the law office one, because the email that was sent around by VB, our office manager who doesn't use any punctuation (or very little) stated:

"as usual we will be having out holiday party this friday. we will do the gift exchange at lunch at the thai restaurant across the street. please let me know when you will be in so we can schedule the massages."

Ummm, massages?

I pictured one of the associates transforming their Silver Spring office into a massage parlor, shading the windows that peek out on Georgia Avenue, lighting candles and incense, rolling in a massage bed, and a masseuse coming in with fluffy robes and slippers...

Yeah, not quite.

I emailed VB. "Massages?"

"yeah" she responded "we bring in a masseuse to do twenty minute chair massages as a company gift."

Okay, so no candles and incense, but I am not complaining.

Then we do the name exchange for the "ten dollar gift exchange" to be had at the strip mall thai restaurant (Silver Spring has Sprung!) and I get A, our sweet little part time high school helper who does a lot of the filing and other thankless tasks.

I think she's a senior. I think she will graduate soon. She is tiny and wears a jacket that proclaims "Instrumental Music" on the back, much like the "Select Choir" letter that I earned in twelfth grade (which, in my defense, I never actually wore.)

Yes. Me. Big. Highschool. Dork.

So, suddenly it feels like a huge responsibility. What do I get the seventeen year old to send her on her way out into the big wide world? And for $10?

I thought about a Salinger book or two. Is that too heavy handed?

I could just do like a set of bath cubes or something fun from lush. Although what can you actually get there in the $10 range? And how will I ever make it over to Georgetown?

So - help - if you were an seventeen-year-old sort of urban, sort of suburban young person, what would YOU want to get in a gift exchange that won't make you think "Geez, that City Mouse is so dorky, and so thirty years old and totally out of touch with the kids these days!" (And no, I can't and won't give her pot.)

Suggestions?

Euthanize Me

The women next to me at Panera, probably 40-45ish, just exchanged Holiday gifts.

The bounty included:
Several ornaments
Something that looks like a very large cookie tin
Socks with snowmen on them

If I ever meet with a girlfriend mid-day and exchange holiday-themed socks, please, shoot me. Quickly and painlessly, but just do it

P.S. Needless to say, one of these women is wearing a Christmas sweater. Nay, better - a Christmas sweater VEST.

Tuesday

I like this small font. It makes my entries look smarter. Like legal ruled paper looks smarter than wide ruled.

Is this a size bias?

I realize that my writing has been less than inspired lately. Actually, these entries were never spectacularly inspired. So be it.

If you want to read very funny, very smart writing check this blog out.

There. Now I at least gave you an option.

And from me, Netflix reviews in fifteen words or less:

The Rules of Attraction:
Why did I rent this? James Van Der Beek looks deformed close up. Stupid movie.

Me and You Everyone We Know:
I love films about completely disfunctional and quirky people falling in love. The kids rock.

We Don't Live Here Anymore:
I don't love films about disfunctional relationships falling apart. Watch at your own risk.

In other news: my home town was featured prominently in the Washington Post yesterday. Who knew Greece, NY would ever get that much press?

I asked my parents about the case and they had a lot to say about the superintendent in question. It sounds like he is now living large with a hefty salary and life long health insurance in Prince William County. How do people get away with this kind of stuff?

Gender Gap

Interesting article. Maybe a wee bit depressing.

I like what Carole Rothman says here: So to all the fabulous young women directors who are out there, and there are many, don't give up.

But also think she is a bit out of touch with reality: And if you can, if you want to, raise a family at the same time - despite the grueling demands of the job that have prevented others. You will, rather uniquely, be leading the way.

Ummm, yeah, easier said than done.

I think it is a step in the right direction that we are even noticing the inbalance. Thirty years ago the statistics would have passed without mention.

Hee, hee, hee

Tinsel Snowflakes

I am trying to find some sense of normalcy and order in my life now that Alice has opened.

Why I should expect to return to normalcy and order when I have never really had either of these things in the past, I am not quite sure. But maybe this time they will magically... emerge. It would be nice anyhow.

The show had its first public performance on Friday night after three long tech rehearsals. We had rehearsal and a show on Saturday, then two shows on Sunday. We continue to learn more about the show based on the different audiences we have and will continue to rehearse and make minor changes through next week.

I don't really feel like talking about that right now. Too many days in the big white box in Foggy Bottom.

Apparently we are in the midst of the holiday season. My colleague just put a cd of Christmas Carols on that the Lighting Designer for Alice made with his partner to help spread the holiday cheer.

I'd almost forgotten that it was December. (Then I remember when I see the big tinsel snowflakes all over Capitol Hill). I'm not all that jazzed about the holidays this year. Sorry world. I am a crotchety little match girl this year.

But the Vince Guaraldi Trio's Christmas Time is Here is playing, and that at least makes me smile.

I don't know. The holidays are just so... loaded. I don't really have any spiritual connection to any holiday that comes around this time so I feel like kind of a fake in that respect. I am happy to see my parents and relax a bit, but with their new home it is not like I am revisiting childhood haunts (or seeing childhood friends). But, full disclosure, the idea of the holidays this year makes me blue. It just does.

Things could be worse. A number of people I know have suffered great losses recently, losses which will always coincide with the holiday season. That sucks.

I just kind of want to get through with them and move on. Does that make me a total grinch?

No One Else Here Remembers Watching the Challenger Blow Up

I am sitting in a Starbucks in Foggy Bottom on our dinner break from the show.

The one embedded in the campus of George Washington University.

It is finals week, so the place is filled with students.

I feel really, really, really old.

These are the things they dont know about:

None of the men worry about hair loss

None of the women worry about the wrinkles in their forehead

None of them have watched their friends become spouses and parents

None of them have been forced to re-examine their dreams and goals in the name of being realistic

Can any of them really have had their hearts broken?

Maybe. I don't remember. Nineteen was a long time ago.

A Pretty New Home

The link above leads to an article in today's Post about the new family theater where we get to do Alice.

$300,000 was spent on this show.

Gigundo fantastico! (That's a quote from the show. Like I said, it's children's theater.)

I have never had a $300,000 budget. I probably never will.

Anyhow, I think the show is in good shape. It is very fun and very colorful, and hopefully as entertaining for the kids who will watch it as it is for the adults who have been watching it.

A Brief Explanation

We are in tech for Alice.

For those non-theater types reading this (and I know there are a few of you out there) “tech” refers to the week (in a good situation) or the day (in a really bad situation) where all of the technical elements are incorporated into a show.

It starts with load-in to the theater. Shows rarely have the luxury of actually rehearsing in the theater they are performing in. They rehearse in a rehearsal hall that has been taped out to match the dimensions of the stage and set as closely as possible.

During load in each respective designer (lights, sound, set, props and costumes) brings their element into the space and gets it up to working order (lights are hung, set is moved into the space, costumes are tried on and props are brought in and tested). When tech actually begins it usually takes the form of a very slow, very specific run through of the show, with lots of stops and starts as sound and light cues are written in and adjusted to suit the director’s vision.

In a nutshell, tech means several long days, with a whole lot of sitting around for the cast and production team as exact moments are perfected. Two out of our three days of tech are “10 out of 12’s” which means that you are called for 12 hours and you have 2 hours worth of breaks (ergo, 10 out of 12).

We had our first 10 of 12 today. It actually went very smoothly with very little tension from the team and things moving relatively quickly. We did not make it through the whole show, but did make it to the 2/3rds point, which was what the director was aiming for.

As AD my job can be pretty vague during tech. In this case I ended up running sound through rehearsals so I answered a few questions on that front and tried to be on call if needed. I wasn’t needed much.

But as always, these things are learning experiences.

I relish the day when I can work in such a professional setting with a similarly talented team of designers and such an attentive crew. It is a luxury.

Spirits are high, so that is a good omen.

Not much else to report. I am directing a fifteen minute musical for a festival of short plays that I have worked on for the past two years. We had auditions Sunday and Monday, and will have callbacks tomorrow night. The writer/lyricist/composer is a friend whom I have had the pleasure of working with a number of times and someone who has truly made me appreciate the potential that comes with a good collaboration. More on that to come, I am sure.

Edna - The Carrie Bradshaw of Her Time

The headline above links to a brief that was in the Sunday Times that reported that artsy types, on the whole, get more action than the general public.

I have no comment.

However, artists are also (they assure the horny normal folks considering conversion) more frequently depressed and even suicidal.

And nearly always broke.

It's a trade off.

My Entirely Meaningless Story

Arctic Actor recently wrote about savoring the moments of synchronicity that happen in our lives.

It is a great description that indeed made me think, "Oh, yeah, that totally happens to me. I read about a concept or a book or a new vocabulary word and then suddenly it pops up everywhere!" (This does not include obvious examples like Nick and Jessica's breakup, which you simply cannot help but encounter at every turn since every single celeb magazine on line in CVS features a version of the headline "Why Nick and Jessica Split.")

So, in typical synchronistic fashion, I read the post, and then had a definite synchronicity moment of my own.

Nobody should care anything about this story. But I felt compelled to share.

So, the other day I am in a bar and "Some Like it Hot" came on in the background. The bar had played an eclectic mix of 80s hits and contemporary stuff (Coldplay and Radiohead kind of picks) throughout the night, and then the unmistakable drum beat of "Hot" came on. Feeling smart I said, "Jeez, now it's Duran Duran? Who is picking this stuff?" My friend, who is if nothing else a treasure trive of completely useless knowledge looked at me as if I had just said that the constitution was signed in DC (ouch, Bright Eyes).

"Ummm, this was Power Station, not Duran Duran" he told me, trying not to sound too disapointed in my total lack of 80s music knowledge.

In my defense, I was a big musical theater dork in the 80s and much of the 90s, with very little pop music exposure.

He explained that Robert Palmer and the Taylor's had teamed up to form Power Station.

"Oh yeah, right" I covered, but had to wonder: "Come on, could anyone else in the world actually identify Power Station?"

Well, tonight I was getting a ride home from a friend after seeing a show out in Virginia. "Simply Irrestible" came on.

"Robert Palmer" my friend said.

"Remember the Robert Palmer girls?" I asked. "Their legacy has stuck longer than his has. Were they in every video he made?"

"Well, not the ones he made with Power Station" my friend replied.

I was stunned. What else have I been missing out on?

The Eyes Have It

The eye is the jewel of the body.
-Henry David Thoreau

I had dinner the other evening with a friend who has the most beautiful blue eyes.

There are other great things about him – he is one of the funniest people you will ever meet and he has a kind heart and a creative mind – but I got home this evening and found myself thinking, specifically, about eyes.

And about how much they define us.

This article (link above) was in the Post this week. It is a little (okay, a lot) disturbing to think about the prospects that this kind of medical advancement opens up. If doctors can “transplant a face” for reasons that seem well earned and worthy, what is to stop them from making this the next step of plastic surgery? You don’t like your face? Hell – get yourself a new one!

Will this woman’s friends recognize her? If all that remains of her original façade, is indeed, her eyes?

Sure they will.

Look at yourself in the mirror. Cover everything but the eyes. It is still, totally, absolutely, you. The Muslims are on to something I think, with their burqas and hijabs that reveal nothing but the eyes. And don’t get me wrong -- I am not by any means petitioning for the adoption of these get ups for the rest of the world. But there is some truth to the idea that a person’s eyes are still the most distinctive and expressive part of themselves.

Like snowflakes. No two alike.

There are all sorts of poetic statements about the eyes as the window to the soul. Corny as they may be, I think they are right on.

We meet someone and say, “They have kind eyes.” Or the reverse, “They have cold eyes”.

So much is expressed in the peepers.

Eyes clue in to our heritage. People have defined both my Eastern European and my Mediterranean roots based on my deep-set, almond shaped eyes. For years they bothered me. Rarely does a picture come back where I don’t look either very sleepy or stoned.

My brother used to make fun of my eyes - called them “Goonan Eyes” after a teacher we had whose eyes were extremely deep set and bulged out in a kind of thyroid problem way. Mine were never that bad but since those were the few years that my brother and I seemed intent on making the other as self-conscious as humanly possible (fortunately, we stopped doing this over a decade ago), the eyes were fair game.

I have an actor friend with big, expressive eye that grow to the size of saucers when he is expressing wonder or amazement. He jokes that when a director is trying to cast someone kind of crazy or a little bit “off” in a play, the eyes get him hired.

“Yeah, let’s call up that guy with the crazy big eyes.”

Any good photographer knows that the best portraits are the ones where they capture an honest and authentic expression in the eyes. In headshots, this is everything. Someone looks interesting, and consequently – interesting to work with - if there is something going on behind the eyes.

Another friend was given a name that translates, literally, to “pretty eyes”. And, lucky for him, they are.

But then, maybe all eyes are pretty in the eyes of the beholder.

More Worthwhile Reading

I wanted to link to an article I read last night in the New Yorker with a very readable and cohesive account of how the case in Dover, Pennsylvania about Intelligent Design came to be. Alas, the New Yorker does not publish entire articles on their website. I suppose I don't blame them. The link above leads to an interview with the Margaret Talbot, who wrote the article.

Anyhow, it's in the latest issue, so consider this a plug. I wasn't following the Dover case at all until Pat Robertson suddenly declared the small Pennsylvania town the modern equivalent of Sodom and Gomorrah. But the article does a great job of providing a clear step by step account of how the case made it to court.

A side note. The book that is constantly mentioned as a leading "biology textbook" (and I use that term loosely) by the Intelligent Design people is called Of Pandas and People. I don't know what it is about, I don't know why that specifically is the title, and I don't really care.

But I do care that these people are enlisting the panda in their fight against real science. I know that Butterstick, for one, would highly disapprove.

Butterstick, like my father, believes in teaching good science. I am sure of that.

P.S. To those of you wondering if I have tickets to see Butterstick: I don't want to talk about it. I tried for thirty minutes the moment the tickets went on line to get through the site. I was unsuccessful. It's a sham. The general public will never really have the chance to see Butterstick.

P.P.S. If anyone HAS a Butterstick ticket that they want to donate to a very good cause, I know one Panda-obsessed Washingtonian who would be forever indebted. (Though I wouldn't offer up a blowjob, which was apparently one of the bartering tools posted on Craigslist for tickets.)

P.P.P.S. Sorry I wrote blowjob, mom.