If we're doing run-throughs then it must be Friday

I’m feeling very unconnected. My apartment lost its wireless signal and the phone service I get in here has gone from bad to worse.

Though not a whole lot of time for chatting anyhow.

Teched the ten-minutes yesterday. And it did indeed take 2 ½ hours. You’d think that would be excessive. But, in our defense, this is the probably the best produced ten-minute play in the history of theater. They all are. Actor’s Theatre sets you up, baby.

The set is more elaborate than most full lengths I’ve done.

So, ideally, we get a bunch of runs in today. I think that will be good for everyone.

Big party yesterday – two actually, the first thrown by rich corporate sponsor folk on the 25th floor of this building right near the river. It had a fabulous view that made me miss skyscrapers. You don’t realize how much you miss a real skyline until you find yourself envying the views of Louisville, Kentucky.

I know, George’s monument and all, but would it really matter if they threw a tall building or two downtown?

Mid-evening, George C. Wolfe was presented with a theater achievement award. He is from around Louisville and in his speech talked a bit about fleeing Kentucky early on in life, but later on knowing that he needed to be able to come back because we can never fully leave behind where we come from. I think there’s some truth to that. In odd, small ways I know that the quirks and idiosyncrasies that come with being an upstate New Yorker live on with me today. Not to mention the accent. Can’t ever fully leave that behind, try as I might.

Then another party back at the theater later at night. Again - great fun but I reach those moments where I am not only exhausted and brain dead but the volume of reveling suddenly ups a notch or two and communication becomes nearly impossible. I hit a wall around midnight and headed home.

So many interesting people here though: playwrights, dramaturges, directors, patrons and supporters… and everyone has a story. It’s great. It’s a good energy. Just a bit overwhelming at times.

Catch Up

I feel anxiety mode creeping in and it isn't going to help things. It isn't even about the play. We will be getting some minor rewrites today, I am still having an absolute blast with the cast, even more so with the addition of our playwright, and I think we will be fine with our allotted two hours of tech for our ten-minute little nugget.

I am actually freaking out because I never found the Louisville Bats cap I meant to get my dad. Or the Louisville Slugger onesie that I thought would be adorable for lil' Sonya in Brooklyn. And I never ate Derby Pie. And worst of all, I didn't schedule seeing all the plays here correctly. So now I've been here five weeks and I still won't end up seeing everything.

Life goes on. We do all we can, and then we let go of the rest. I know.

I also just filled in my calendar and I don't have a day off until May if all goes as planned. The good news is I figured out how to synch it with my ipod again, so I will always know where I am supposed to be, whether I am completely there in spirit or not.

It's fine, it's great, it is really. The weekend is going to be non-stop and then I make my final trek through the Louisville airport.

And I can't complain, really. It has been wonderful getting back to DC for short stints of culture (heady movies - someday I'll weigh in on what I've been watching lately, because they are all actually worth seeing) and friends. I saw Mr. JD from choir last Saturday after a crazy cab ride from BWI with a chatty Korean cab driver, a cutie pie highschool teacher from Oregon, and two girls looking at grad schools. We somehow ended up discussing gender roles and sexual appetites while I sat wary that the driver was going to say something that would make me really regret having volunteered to sit in the front seat.

And JD is great. I heard all about his lady, and pending wedding, and the mating habits of salamanders. Would it were all so simple.

Patty Griffin's Goodbye is on at the coffee shop. They're playing a live album of hers. Good choice.

Twisted

I’m watching a segment about a pretzel factory in Pennsylvania on the travel channel. It is about all I can handle right now.

I know I’ve said it before, but I really don’t know how people do the constant traveling thing. Back and forth from Louisville to DC twice in three weeks has completely done me in. As the plane took off from BWI at 10am this morning I looked outside and couldn’t remember if I was watching Louisville or Baltimore fade into miniature. I guess it is some comfort that I only had two places to choose from.

That said, I couldn’t ask for more in terms of challenging, interesting work right now, and great people to be engaging in it with. It is a pleasure to have the playwright here in Kentucky now – he’s great, has an infective energy which is just what I needed to perk me up after too many airports – and my first rehearsal for the play I return to work on in DC was also exciting. I love the actors, the stage manager is totally on the ball, the play is rich and potentially moving, it is all good.

I know. These thumbnail accounts of my work are not all that thrilling. But I’m beat. And thinking about some other things that are murky in my mind right now, and frankly a little preoccupied with watching people on TV make ice cream. Now it’s ice cream. They are apparently highlighting the ten best food factory tourist attractions, and now it’s Vermont at Ben and Jerry’s. We went there when I was in fifth grade. They had cows and we got free ice cream. Hmmm. Yes. Right.

Adding Color

Things are moving on swimmingly here. We finished staging the play today and did a run. Still a lot of finessing and discovery to be had, but we have a shape. And I always work better once something is laid out. I like getting to the details. Still some things to figure out, but I think we are in quite good shape. The playwright will be here starting next Tuesday, which will be a treat as well.

Narrowly missed a small disaster this morning. Last night somewhere between the hours of midnight and 1am I went to take my contacts out and again (yes - twice in three months) rinsed one down the drain. Now, my last stint in Louisville I'd brought several extra pairs thinking, "Now CM, you don't want what happened in Poughkeepsie to happen again right?" But I brought them back to DC last weekend. After packing Monday morning and heading to the airport I thought:

Conscientious voice: "Wow, I don't have any extra contacts this time".

Carefree voice: "But you'll be fine. It's only a week. And when do you ever lose a contact?"

I traveled on.

Never listen to Carefree voice.

So when it happened last night I of course went to all of the dark places. I won't find another contact lens in Louisville. I will have to wear my glasses, which are broken down the middle (see May) and the way wrong prescription anyhow. I will be blind in one eye for the next several days. I will try to direct while blind in one eye.

The scariest thought was that it might not even make a difference.

But since I have been adamant about telling others not to panic (ahem) I talked myself down from my myopic ledge and thought sleep can only help the situation. Tomorrow is another day.

And I did. I did sleep.

At 8:00am in the morning I started sending frantic emails to the theater company manager. Can someone get me to a lenscrafters? Please!? Me with one contact will not be pretty (I am not over-reacting. My vision is really, pretty terrible and I cannot function with only half a correction. My perspective is all off and I can't walk straight. While it may have made my actual directing more, ummm, creative, it will also make me nauseas.)

I started poring over the phone book. If I call a cab from here to take me to this mall here, I can probably make it there and back by my 2:30 rehearsal...

And then, a foggy memory. Louisville Optical, right across from the wonderful Persian restaurant where Ms. Director and I would get cheap greek salads. I called. No answer. I left a rambling message.

After 9am I called again. I explained my situation. I shocked her with my horribly bad prescription (which I had on hand! See, the Conscientious voice had worked her magic at some point!) and she went to check their stock.

"Well, we don't always have such, well, unusual prescriptions on hand but I do have a sample of that right here"

"Oh wonderful" I gush, "I'll be right there. How much will that be?"

"Consider it your gift from the city of Louisville"

Score one more point for the heartland of America.

Laura at Louisville Optical was as sweet as can be. Turns out her daughter works in sales at the theater. She wants to be a make-up artist, maybe for the theater, when she gets out of school.

I told her the real money is in film.

I need to find a way to thank her. But tickets for the really dark urban comedy I assisted on or the really dark suburban sort-of comedy I am directing? Mmmmm. Maybe not. Maybe flowers.

P.S. The lovely blossoms above are courtesy of mom. Perfect selection.

What Goes Around...

I'm watching vintage Six Feet Under reruns to try to get my mind off of genocide and domestic abuse.

Second day of rehearsal. Things are going well. We only meet for three hours a day, but it's a productive three hours. And only a ten-minute play.

I love the actors. They are smart and talented and so far, extremely open and warm. Designers are great. I say I need a bleeding door and they give me a bleeding door.

No complaints really. It's times like this that I have to remember and think, yes, things really are good, recognize that.

One of my actors was actually at Michigan with me - she was a theater major and I was a musical theater major. She was much, much cooler than I was, so we didn't really hang out, and I was always a bit intimidated by her. But she is truly sweet and lovely. It is good to revisit times in your life like that. Now as a generally more confident, happier person, it is enlightening to cross paths with people again and realize just how far we have all come.

It is so strange though. My start of undergrad seems like only moments ago and yet it has been nearly twelve years since I took that first six hour train ride from Rochester to Ann Arbor to attend orientation. I wrote my speech for graduation on that ride in this purple bound journal I still carry around from apartment to apartment. Oh that speech! I thought I was so wise. Totally fancied myself Ione Skye from Say Anything. I am sure I quoted people that I had no business quoting. And on the train this woman sitting across from me on the ride wouldn't stop talking to me. She was dressed in some uber skimpy get up. I was nervous and intrigued. Who were these people? Who was I? Suddenly my life was mine, all mine.

One of the other actors at the festival, who is directing another of the ten-minute plays, actually taught me acting at a summer program I attended after that first year of Michigan. Again, so weird to think these people knew me when I was eighteen-years-old. I had to do this sort of suggestive scene in one of the plays we were working on and I was terrified. I remember sitting up in front of this class and talking about tactics I could use to pursue this action of "seducing" when I had no frikkin' idea what that even meant.

I am not sure that I know now either, but I am much less embarrassed when talking about it.

Good to know that progress has been made.

But this is what I love about the theater. Goodbyes are never really goodbyes. Eventually, inevitably, we will all cross paths again.

Too Much Time, Too Easily Distracted

I played with adding a picture to my lil' profile thing last night. It didn't actually register when I published it, so I wasn't aware that the cartoon mouse would appear everywhere. (It's from some educational video game).

But she really is kind of appropriate:

"Mia is a little mouse who is a bit of a tomboy, she is full of audacity and is somewhat stubborn. Mia loves adventure and discovery, but does not take risk-taking as seriously as she should. She does not always think about the consequences of her actions and can get herself and others into some pretty awkward situations."

Now, awkward situations I know all about.

But I'll find something better, I promise. Even if she is wearing overalls it is still just a bit too precious.

Big (Naked) Love

I'm back.

In Kentucky.

I don't know how people do the full fledged freelancing thing - as in, in a different part of the country every month or so. I find it overwhelming. And confusing. And a touch lonely I suppose.

But it is good to be back and settled. The trip was incredibly easy. I've now been through the Louisville airport three times. Three more times to go.

Being back as a real live director means I get a real live apartment. Compared to most of the places I have lived in my adult life it is positively palatial. Big, but, empty. Underfurnished. So the bedroom (which alone is the size of the studio in Capitol Hill where I lived for two years) has a bed and a dresser and that's it. I could choreograph an interpretative dance in the empty space in the bedroom. If I did that kind of thing.

The other news is the TV. I didn't have a TV in the place I was staying before. Which isn't a shock to the system because I don't actually have a TV at home. I mean, we have a TV but no reception. (Really, see, I know this is thrilling, but this is what happens when you have a three room apartment to yourself and you're living in Kentucky - life gets extremely mundane). But here there is a little bitty 12-inch TV. Which looks even smaller because the apartment is so big. So a tiny TV but ninety-eight channels.

It is all about contrasts here. Big space, one person. Large rooms, very little furniture. Small TV, too many channels.

Just like in the three bears, nothing is just quite right for the goldilocks with the mouse-y brown hair.

Tiny TV aside, I do get three different HBO's. And living in a constant state of no TV means that when I am around it I go a bit on overload. It happens at my parent's house as well (last time resulted in an unofficial Curb Your Enthusiasm marathon).

Right, so, Big Love is on tonight. It's interesting. And with more than its fair share of sex scenes. Bill Paxton gets lots of exposure.

Who knew bigamy could be so hot?

P.S. Coincidentally, my fortune cookie (read while watching Big Love and blogging because multi-tasking is good): "Four basic premises of writing: clarity, brevity, simplicity, and humanity." None of which I have just achieved. Maybe a touch of humanity.

Genetically Programmed

I just spilled my entire untouched Americano at Murky Coffee.

It poured in the direction AWAY from my laptop, rather than TOWARDS it. I soaked the stacks of expresso cups, but the computer is okay. I am still afraid to breathe after that one.

I love Murky, but people don't pay attention to personal space here.

Okay so, finally, some thoughts about FAT PIG.

First, I did think the friends I had in it (the two women) were wonderful, really great work from both of them. And overall, I had a few qualms with some of the directorial choices (it was so *slick*) but I will say that, regardless, the last scene's pay-off makes it well worth the ride.

And art aside, the points that it forces you to think about are interesting and worth some examination. There were a couple of moments/ideas that I found particularly striking (I tried to explain this to friends while drinking non-irish beer on St. Patty's at Tunni's, but did a rather shoddy job at it - oh, yeah some possible spoilers here if you are waiting to see the show...):

So - the two lead characters have been dating for what seems to be a substantial amount of time. We don't know exactly how long. But they have talked about staying in the same city to be with each other (which I assumed was NY, until they kept talking about a job "the next town over" - what, Westchester?), he has a photo of her in his wallet (which also struck me as a bit odd - who carries a photo in their wallet of anyone but children and nieces?), and all of his friends know about her existence, even if they haven't met her. Point being though - they are pretty invested. And yeah, both pretty much in love. But things remain tense because there is this part of him that cannot love her in public because of societal expectations.

And so she offers to get "an operation or stapled or something" (my paraphrase).

Wow. Somehow hearing someone offer that - "I will physically, painfully, intrusively do this thing to change myself in order to keep you" was really, well, hard and effective and moving and kind of devastating.

Sure, we all - directly or passive aggressively - ask people to change for us. And in turn, we try to change for others, I try to be more on time. I try, I don't necessarily succeed, but I try. I try to be less "reactive" (unless absolutely called for, okay?)

But the idea of trying to be different physically - saying to someone - "If you will love me with a different nose then by god, I'll get that different nose" - wouldn't it forever change the balance? To, quite literally, recreate yourself to earn someone's love, how can you not end up resenting that?

So the other thing that landed was this idea that we all exist in a certain strata of attractiveness and shouldn't try to break rank. You know - the guy's friend, who is kind of a jerk, but speaks pretty honestly - suggests that this is the case. The guy is dating down, look-wise, and he sees it as like a major evolutionary break. Lizards don't date turtles, monkeys don't date zebras, athletic men do not date fat girls.

And you hear this, and you hate it, but you know you've thought the same thing.

It's not a hard fast rule - I mean, models date ugly rock stars, stunning actresses date Woody Allen, but really - how often does it work the other way?

That night I interrupted my cousin's girl's night and they were watching the episode of Sex and the City where, after finally converting fully to Judaism, Harry breaks up with Charlotte. She's pissed because he is not taking Shabbat seriously and she turns to him and says something along the lines of, "Do you know all that I've given up for you? Do you know how much it confuses people when they see us walking down the street together?" (again, my paraphrase).

Ow.

Of course, it is TV-land, so everything eventually works out for them, and Harry is actually a total hottie (I saw him in Starbucks last time I was in NY) but this all raises an interesting and potentially devastating question.

Are we gentically prgrammed to know our rank and to date withing those guidelines? And if that is the case, what might we be missing by living by those rules?

It's an ugly and disheartening idea.

Anyhow, I had a really wonderful weekend seeing old friends (and some new ones). And I got stuff done, and things are good, and in several hours I head back to the bluegrass state.

Stranger in a Strange Land

There is something about being back in DC that brings on a minor anxiety attack. I inevitably end up running around with a mega list of things to accomplish and it doesn't all get done. It just doesn't. Ever. Never ever.

It also occurred to me on the second day back when I was on the metro escalator and out of the corner of my eye I saw someone who I thought I knew and then immediately dismissed it because "I was in Louisville, and who other than ATL folk do I know in Louisville?" that I am in fact NOT in Kentucky and that there is every likelihood that I will run into people that I know in DC. And that some of those people are people I want to run into and some of them are not.

Does anyone out there manage to live in a city for four years and only have people that they WANT to run into while roaming the streets?

Anyhow, for a fleeting second I missed the random anonymity of a small city in America's heartland.

But it is good to be back, when all is said and done. I've had some meetings-meetings, blah-blah, have a few more to do, got some stuff done, had some very good chats, and while I may in fact NOT make it over to Kiehl's for the only moisturizer I am willing to be consistent about using, well, that's what the internet is for right?

P.S. I know Kiehl's facial fuel is marketed specifically for men. But I cannot be the only woman out there using it. It has caffeine in it for goodness sakes! What isn't made better/shinier/healthier/more vibrant/aware/awake with a shot of caffeine?

Theater Overdose

The show I assisted on got a great review in the Lousiville paper.

I saw Fat Pig last night. Many thoughts, but I haven't quite figured out what to say about it yet. Glad I saw it. Maybe I'll have processed them by tomorrow.

Tonight I will see Don Juan.

I actually kind of hate when I have to cram a lot of theater into a short time but what can you do.

It's really bizarre being home, a little bit, but not for real.

Gratis

I am back safe and sound in the greater DC area. Exhausted, but alive and well.

I turned in early enough last night after my traditional last minute packing, like 1:00 am, thinking, well, the alarm is set for 4:45 am, that kind of sucks, but at least I'll get through one cycle of REM (that's like 4 hours, right?) and I can always sleep on the plane or on the ridiculously long layover (three hours) I have in Charlotte, NC.

What actually happened is my body went into panic mode imagining what would happen if I didn't wake up to my alarm and thus, I didn't sleep at all. I love when that happens.

The cab driver was ten minutes early, so we headed off to the airport by, yes, 5:25 am. Right, so, that's unusual for me. Five in the morning. Not so good. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirrored walls of the elevator and not only did I not look like I was awake, I actually did not look like I was alive.

But then my day of free stuff started. Which is great. I hesitate to admit that I really like free stuff, because, well, you know - cultural stereotypes and all that - but I do! I do!

First we get to the airport and I realize that what I thought was a discount cab voucher from the theater is actually a free ride. Which makes sense but what do I know. And then I go to the US Airways counter to check my bag. Now, I am never noticeably early for anything. I have tried to figure out why this is, like from a psychological standpoint - I think I hate waiting for things or people so to counteract that I try to be as close to on the dot for everything, always - it's a problem, I know, but that's beside the point. Anyhow, this morning I arrive for a 7:30am flight at 5:45am. Yeah, right, I'll never do that again. But then - good news - the guy at the counter looks at my ticket and says, "Why don't I switch you to the direct flight going out at 6:30am?"

Right. Why don't you do that midwestern god among men?

He walks away and I ask the other woman at the counter what that will cost. Probably $25 she tells me, which I think is worth saving five hours of travel time.

And the man comes back and he smiles at me and he has done it for free. I, walking embodiment of the living dead, smile and thank him and suddenly I love the heartland of America.

I head to my gate without event and see our playwright waiting for her flight to NY.

Hello playwright! Hello citymouse! See you at the special weekend later in the month! Yes, safe travels!

I board my tiny little "Air Wisconsin" plane, which is only about half full, and only by real commuter pro business folks, so I get two seats to myself and think I'll sleep now.

But for some reason I can't sleep. I boast of my ability to sleep under pretty much any circumstance, and now, I can't sleep.

Which I try not to worry about. I zone out, we make it to National, I have to think about what way I want to go on the metro, I zone some more, and I make it home by 8:30 am. My cousin hasn't even left for work.

And then I crash hard. My own bed is a wondrous sight. I half unpack and then sleep the sleep of the dead for about three hours (don't worry, more free stuff is coming).

I then head up to the law firm day job because I said I would and suddenly I am starving. So I swing by to Potbelly sandwiches, glad that I ended my Potbelly strike in January, and I get a tuna sandwich. And they put cheese on it when I say no cheese, and that's fine I'll wait, but then I get to the counter and he says, as if the cheese was some tragedy, "Please miss, get a cookie if you want, this lunch is on us because we made a mistake." Which seems very silly to me but I again smile my tired zombie smile, and I resist the cookie.

And then, as if it couldn't get any better, I walk outside and they are handing out bottles of Vitamin Water on the streets of Silver Spring. I get my favorite, the lemonade with zinc, and feel, indeed, like one of the chosen.

Let's recap: free cab, free upgrade, free sandwich, free vitamin water. And tonight, half a free ticket for Fat Pig. And then half free Jack at Tunni's with the MB. Still looking like a zombie, yes, still feeling a bit like death, but the free stuff helps. Doesn't it always?

Over the Hill

It is our day off and I wasted away in bed until 12:30pm. After nearly four weeks of pretty austere living I was convinced by some members of the Apprentice Company here to “come out to a real Louisville bar” last night. It seemed like being social was necessary, finally, as we are about to open, so I went along with my enthusiastic abettors, to a place called Willy’s. The bar (like, behind which the bartenders stood) itself was actually a really long terrarium with several lizards inside. It was actually kind of cool (and a little disconcerting) to suddenly notice mid-conversation that an amphibian was scurrying around underneath your beer.

From there we went to Freddy’s, which is apparently a Louisville institution. I can see why. I have visited some dives in my time but this place takes the cake. The first thing I notice are two very old men sitting at the bar with Santa Clause beards, squinting at us through the permanent cloud of cigarette smoke. Suddenly eight or so twenty-something’s (and, umm, a couple of thirty-something’s) descend on the silent bar and the bearded men scatter like cockroaches. I felt a bit like an interloper.

But Freddy’s it was. It was cheap. And kind of gross in that ashtrays on the counters in the women’s bathroom inch of residue on the wood paneling kind of way.

From there someone started talking about going gambling in Indiana (which I may actually have been talked into, simply because I haven’t been to Indiana since I was seventeen, and that somehow seems a shame) but instead we ended up playing some bizarre guessing game at someone’s apartment (I think I’ve played this game as an acting exercise once).

One person closes their eyes, another person in the group is silently chosen, and then you go around the circle and the person who had their eyes closed asks things like, “If I were an item of clothing what would I be?” “If I were a type of beverage what would I be?” and so on. After everyone has been asked the person tried to guess who was being described.

Mind you, many of these people were people I’d met hours before, and the others I’d met within the past few weeks but really knew nothing about. So I made snap judgments based solely on first impressions, and managed to slightly offend several people, when I called one guy the sitcom “Roseanne” (which was actually a great show) because he seemed extremely straightforward and ballsy (he thought I was calling him fat) and another guy when I said as an item of clothing he would be a white-hat (because yes, he totally looks like a frat boy. Doesn’t mean he acts like one, but that is what he looks like).

I think the game could be kind of brutal if played with people who really know each other.

At some point someone said, “It’s five-thirty”. Which of course meant, in the morning. And suddenly every muscle in my body was screaming at me, “Who the fuck do you think you are hanging out with twenty-five year-olds until 5:30 in the morning and thinking that you will do anything productive the next day?” I bid the kids goodnight and fell into a very restless sleep.

The thing is, I couldn’t really pull all nighters when I was a young thing, so what makes me think I can do it now?

A Heart Warmer

A story that would make even a cynic smile. (Link above). And it happened at my alma mater, Greece Athena High School.

Do You Know Where Your Daughters Are?

That anyone could garner anything from Ann Coulter besides the fact that she is an anorexic media whore is beyond me. Scary (link above).

"Stuart grew up in a liberal Connecticut family, but in her sophomore year, she attended a debate that included conservative commentator Ann Coulter and came away enthralled. Soon she had joined the College Republicans...
Michelle Easton, president of Luce, sees Stuart as the fruit of the conservative movement's labor: 'She's a wonderful example of a student who went to college as a liberal and turned to the conservative side through hearing a conservative speaker. That's what we do at Luce.'"

That makes me a little bit nauseas.

Slow and Steady Never Wins

Look! Something else you can buy at the CVS here! Lawn Ornaments!

See, look, the one that is not the small lawn gnome is a statue of a tortoise and a hare arm wrestling. Very clever, right? Like when the tortoise raced the hare, but now instead of racing they’re sitting down to arm wrestle.

Today’s tortoise and hare – too fucking lazy to run their proper race.

We go into tech on Thursday. We really are ready, even kind of longing for it.

Not much else to report. I joined the Y here (they have a deal with the theater that makes it super-super cheap). I like Y’s because they remind you that there are people on this planet that are older and younger than you.

There are special lockers for the swimmers, and many of them have these garish colored old-lady bathing suits hanging from them (the Silver Swimmers, I am guessing). They are great, massive affairs, with little skirts, or half sleeves, and super sturdy built in torpedo bras.

I go during the day, so I don’t see many kids. But their clientele does cut a wide swath. There was a couple there the other day, maybe mid-twenties, who both had their arms completely wrapped in tattoos, one almost matching the other. So what happens when they break up?

Derby Hats and More

Another day off, another trip up Bardstown Road. I bought a birthday present for my oldest friend in the world (longest time, not actually oldest age-wise) which is quite lovely and hip and totally suitable for a fashionable Brooklynite, even though it was purchased in Kentucky. I was pleased.

Also found this vintage store with like, 8,000 formal dresses and a slew of "Derby Hats". They had vintage eyeglass frames too. As some of you know I sported a pair of vintage frames for many years, until they split in half last year when I was in West Virginia. Very, very sad. I am tempted. Do I do the vintage frames again, or go with something practical and grown up?

Went to dinner at a place called Primo's with the cast and playwright on Saturday night. It was quite nice and very fashionable - for Louisville, or anywhere, really. It was nice to spend time together away from the rehearsal studios. I then went over to where they are being housed (which is about a fifteen minute walk, annoyingly, from where I am) to watch the Oscars last night. I stayed until about 10:30pm but was by then so horrified by the musical numbers they had produced (what were they thinking!?) that I had to go home. I later heard that Crash had won, and I have nothing to say about that. It's just silly, Crash simply wasn't the best picture. Silly academy voters.

It was fun watching them with our playwright because she has spent some time in Hollywood and has very funny things to say about that world, and amazing stories about the time she has spent there. She is very opinionated with no apologies. I want to be her when I grow up.

I keep trying to take pictures to share with y'all of the heinous "Fourth Street Live" block of downtown Louisville but my picture phone just doesn't do it justice. Today I noticed that at the place called "The Pub" (link above, which actually gives a pretty good shot of Fourth Street) they advertised "Traditional English Fayre". Really? Is that what the cool kids are calling it these days? "Fayre"? What's the deal, HTO, are they trying to put one over on us or what?

Surprisingly, Louisville bars have a pretty good selection of beer on tap, across the boards it seems (although I have not been out enough to really test that theory). Lots of Blue Moon, lots of Smithwicks. Apparently there is a pretty large Irish-American population here (something to do with the terrain here and the potato famine, I don't remember the story) so maybe that shouldn't come as a surprise.

Okay, stop talking about beer Citymouse. Mom will worry.

Kentucky Goodness

Wow, so, I am more exhausted by 11pm than I have the right to be.

Lots of stuff going on with the show – both of them actually, as I have now had meetings with the dramaturge and set designer for my ten-minute play (which will inevitably be better produced than any other play I have ever worked on) -- but I’ll get to all of that in good time. I am having a great time with the director I am assisting as well. I am learning so much – which doesn’t always happen in assisting experiences, but she is smart and open, and I am trying to be as sponge-like as possible when I am around her.

I got a care package the other day from the magnificent MB. It was amazing. I felt so ummm, “cared” for. Which I guess is the intent of a care package. I haven’t gotten one (actually in the mail, in a big cardboard box) since college.

This one was like a treasure hunt. Each layer revealed goodies more exceptional than the ones above them. Vitamin water (which I finished in a day), Easter candy (like any good half Jew I tore right in), a funny bendy straw that has an Easter chick posed on it in a position that I swear to you looks like he is being crucified (very symbolic), magazines, a starbucks gift card…

The gift that keeps on giving.

My parents used to send me these massive care packages when I first went away to school and had all of these bizarre rules about what I would and would not eat. They were great about it – sending me just the right granola bars and organic cookies and vegetarian soups. That’s all eased up quite a bit by now. Thankfully.

Although it doesn’t look like I will be able to indulge in any of the native Kentucky specialties. I mean, yeah – fried chicken – that’s a no brainer. But there is also apparently a thing called the Hot Brown, which consists of hot turkey and bacon (see link above).

I guess I’ll have to stick to the Bourbon and Derby Pie. Neither of which I have had yet. But I did discover when taking a side trip to CVS to get cold medicine for the director I am working with that you can buy liquor in the drugstores here.

I knew they sold beer, but I had not wandered far enough into the store to see the entire back room filled with hard alcohol and wine. Really bad wine, but wine nonetheless. I took pictures.





I then went to buy some Tylenol Cold and Flu, and discovered (only after wandering though the aisles, baffled, for twenty minutes) that I had to go to the pharmacy counter to get it. And then hand over my driver’s license so that they could record all of my information.

Because while you can buy all the vodka you want at CVS, you can’t buy the 20 boxes of cold medicine you would need to make crystal meth. Apparently Kentucky is one of those states with a major meth epidemic.

Somehow this doesn’t come as a surprise. So all those stories about trailers blowing up because of these makeshift meth labs? They could be my neighbors.

By Design

I just met with the set designer for my ten-minute play. He has designed for every Humana Festival for the past thirty years.

His ideas were just great.

Smart. Correct. Well-thought out. Story based.

I wanted to hug him.

I always feel like in these director/designer meetings I should have something that I want changed because the first version can't ever just be "right", right? Even for a ten-minute.

But he was right. From the start.

Comes with experience, I suppose.

Strangers with Stories

- I watched Grizzly Man last night. I don’t know who is loonier in the film – Treadwell, the coroner, the girlfriend (who he met working at what is essentially a Medieval Times), or Werner Herzog (the filmmaker) himself. I mean really. His opinions and editorializing (Herzog) bleed all over the film, and while some of that is justified, I really think he goes too far. The scene where he listens to the tape of Treadwell dying feels so manipulative. It’s too much.

- I discovered that I live across the street from the Louisville Free Public Library (link above). It’s a great library (although the copier machines seem to be in a constant state of screwed up). They have free concerts with guest artists like Dar Williams and Iris Dement. And they stock newspapers from around the country, including the Washington Post, which I miss almost as much as I miss DC.

- The other day on my latest 23 Bus adventure this young woman wearing sweat pants and dress shoes asked me if I minded if she smoked while we waited at the bus stop. It’s fine with me I said, and smiled, then turned away. She kept going:

“I quit for a year quit cold turkey but then started up again and I asked because you know some people are allergic to smoke and I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable because I did quit for a year but then I started again when I lost my dad I mean I didn’t really lose him he’s still alive but he went back to jail and I’d only known him for the past three years anyhow I didn’t grow up with him he came into my life three years ago and now he’s gone again and that is really tough and I’m not speaking to him now I mean he’s still doing the same drugs he was doing twenty years ago it’s why my mother left him in the first place and maybe if he feels like he might lose his daughter again then this time he’ll get out and stay out it’s just really hard so I started smoking again and it is so cold outside I grew up in Texas and I am just not used to it being this cold I mean I moved here when I was nine but you still remember what you grew up with you know so I will always remember that heat and I have to wear a jacket when it is seventy degrees ‘cause that too just feels so cold to me because I grew up in Texas and wow I am just telling you all this stuff and you are some total stranger but sometimes it is easier to just talk like this to someone you will never see again, know what I mean, huh?”

I’m not kidding. When I realized she was going to keep going on I took my headphones off because while it seemed like she didn’t really care that I had them on it seemed painfully rude to me to keep them on. And I would nod every once in a while. And she just kept on going.

This kind of thing used to happen to me all the time. I guess I had a face that made strangers want to talk to me. But at some point I shut it down. It was getting to be too much. Witnessing the pain and heartache of others felt heavy and weighted, even though they were just words, only stories. The pain still felt so palpable at times. So I adopted what HP Melon calls the “bitch face” and indeed, it pretty much stopped.

But lately I’ve been thinking that this cuts me off from seeing how the rest of the world lives. I know, that sounds condescending, I don’t mean it that way.

But it is good to hear about other people’s lives. Sometimes.