Spilled Beer and Staged Readings

I'm here, really I am.

Quick updates.

The show is going well. I mean, it's moving along and I still like everyone and all that.

It's rained for like, forty days and forty nights in the city this week alone.

On the train ride home tonight I apparently let one of my bags (yes, ONE of several. Can we say, pack-mule?) sit in a puddle of beer for much of the ride. I smelled it but thought - oh someone spilled beer somewhere on the train. Little did I know I was actually sitting in it. Now it seems like everything smells like beer. And you can tell it's cheap beer too. Not that swimming in chimay is any better than swimming in bud but yeah, maybe it is, a little.

I had the opportunity to visit a friend outside of the city in a house on a lake a mere thirty minutes from the apple and it was lovely and peaceful and lush and about as unlike Manhattan as you can possibly imagine. A really wonderful blip of an escape. Here's to escapes.

This weekend I'm back in DC. Come see readings at the Kennedy Center during the Page-to-Stage festival. Seriously - there are tons of them going on, so come see one that I am working on or one that someone else is working on but indeed - come see something. The link in the title is to the press release.

They have me listed for the one I am doing with Shawn (which I finally finished reading today, and I have to say, it's pretty outrageous) but not the other one I'm doing for Centerstage - Americamisfit by Dan Dietz. It's also pretty out there, and very funny and inventive and exciting and musical. All good.

Except, ummm, I've dealt with the Kennedy Center before. Many times. I've done page-to-stage three years now. And they can't spell my name correctly? Yeah, okay.

Maybe this wouldn't annoy me as much if I didn't have the smell of beer embedded in my nostrils, but it kind of does.

Last year in getting through P2S I know I rankled the hide of one of the assistants to an assistant who was putting together our program. I don't even remember exactly what happened, but at some point I was driven to being not very nice to her on the phone.

I wonder if she was putting together the program again this year. Not that I'm paranoid or anything.

And whether or not that has anything to do with it, maybe there is a lesson to be learned here about not being nice to people.

Or about not crying over misspelled names or spilt beer.

Urban Renewal

I'm at the Lincoln Center Barnes & Noble. Looking out on that stretch of Broadway between, what, 66th and 67th I guess? Across from the Virgin Store?

The plaza in front of Juilliard is all torn up. I'm not sure what they're doing there.

For about nine months in 2000 I worked in this neighborhood, and would walk from the subway stop way west (where all those Trump buildings are now) every day.

The whole Lincoln Center complex is kind of ugly and very removed from the city. It was built during the reign of Robert Moses, when the idea was to set this whole cultural institution up and away from the masses. Kind of like the Kennedy Center. Do you guys know about Robert Moses? Read about him at the link above. He shaped our US cities throughout this last century, perhaps more than any other one man. Not all good. In fact, mostly not good. The article is definitely not objective though. Isn't wikipedia supposed to be objective?

It is pretty Grand...

I'm a little bit baffled by my life these days. Not in a bad way, it's just, everything is a little bit different.

I got caught in a downpour walking through Times Square today.

I relish my Metro North rides in to and out of the city. I'm reading more than I have in a long time. My script is really well organized. And I'm watching episodes of Felicity.

I've always said that I couldn't deal with any real commute, but I like it right now. It keeps me centered when everything else seems a bit bizarre.

Again, not in a bad way.

I haven't spent any time at all actually in the city. In fact, I don't think anyone knows that I am here yet. Which is okay because it gives me time to hang with my parents. And they actually seem to be enjoying it. I think they like having me home right now.

I watched my mom shuck corn at the grocery store yesterday. She works with great intensity.

And today, the cable guy came.

I pack little lunches and bring them with me to my rehearsal. Then, on a break, I eat my cheese sandwich and chips.

I like our rehearsal space. And I am charmed by the experience of walking out of the door directly into midtown Manhattan. All in all, I am having a great time.

I do miss everybody. And I miss the idea of having everybody, well, nearby.

But it's good. Things are shaken up. That's good for me. In a life that doesn't really allow for it I know I tend to cling too much to routine.

Including working on this show - today we worked on a scene that we've done pretty much the same in each version of the show. For almost two years now. But now three of the four actors are new. It's a good challenge - resisting trying to recreate the exact same moments we had before. And on the other hand, not throwing out things that worked just for the sake of change.

There's some metaphor for life in there, but I don't know if I am capable of chipping away at it enough to hone in on it right now.

It's 11:04. My train leaves Grand Central in six minutes. I'm going to watch Felicity.

Kind Of

I don't got much tonight...

This is for Hpmelon:
Ron Burgundy: I don't know how to put this but I'm kind of a big deal.
Veronica Corningstone: Really.
Ron Burgundy: People know me.
Veronica Corningstone: Well, I'm very happy for you.
Ron Burgundy: I'm very important. I have many leather-bound books and my apartment smells of rich mahogany.

I am proudly, not a big deal at all.

But I do have lots of books.

I am in the Pough-keeps, where I can push a button on a refrigerator and get filtered water. Tomorrow morning I am going grocery shopping with my mother so that we can buy fake meats and other soy products.

I have not yet seen the x-rays of her spine injury, but they sit tantalizingly on our kitchen table, willing me to look at them.

Had a lovely last evening in DC and the most non-eventful less than four hour bus ride to New York today. We like that. First rehearsal went well, I'm still a bit bleary eyed, but glad to be here.

More thoughts soon, I promise. I do not promise, however, that they will be any more inspired than these were.

A Lengthy One

It has come to my attention that my mother has started reading my blog with some regularity again.

I mean, she told me she was. On a voice mail. Incidentally, voice mails from mothers are potentially the greatest comic fodder of the early twenty-first century.

But I'm not going to make fun of my mom (I'm not mom, really).

I couldn't help but picture that she had a little list of talking points ready based on recent posts (full disclosure: dramatic liberties taken):

"Hi Citymouse, dad and I are just checking in, we should talk to you sometime this week so let's try to do that okay (pause) and I've been reading your blog again I didn't for a while because I haven't had time in so long and we've still been making the switch between the old computer and the mac so it gets so confusing about what is hooked up to which and when you are here next week maybe you can show us how to use the little camera and take pictures and send them to people but anyway I was reading it and (pause) who was it that you went to Europe with again and I never knew that you were kissing different boys there you never really told us about that (pause) you told us about the pot brownies in Amsterdam but not about the boys and who was the friend that you had a weird conversation with I mean is it someone I know and do you need to talk about it because I was kind of concerned reading that and (pause) so did you say you would or wouldn't date a transsexual?"

I will be living with my parents for the next couple of weeks while I'm working on LUNCH in New York. I am actually very much looking forward to this. I hope that mom of Citymouse has a long and provocative list of talking points ready.

She is apparently reading this book right now. Which surprised me a little since I've never really thought that we had any communication issues. Nothing major at least. Sure there are times when she says something and I freak out, but usually that is Citymouse channeling her irrational and temperamental seventeen-year-old self simply because she is spending time with her parents and that is the place where seventeen-year-old self feels most comfortable emerging. Usually she goes away pretty quickly and thirty-one year old self apologizes sheepishly.

Anyway, the thing that I do worry about mom reading the blog is I know it worries her when she reads about me going out and drinking too often. No need to worry Citymouse mom. I am responsible and careful about my imbibing.

Except last night (doh! see! I knew she drank too much.... talking point #3, discuss Citymouse's drinking habits...)

But here's the deal. It's not usually how much I drink but rather how I drink that presents the problem.

And last night I did the lame sorority girl "No, I totally don't need to eat dinner so I'll be fine if I keep drinking on a totally empty stomach because I don't really want to worry about getting food anyway."

I wasn't even that girl when I was in college. I was never that kind of girl.

Last night I went to a birthday gathering for my ex-boyfriend's ex-fiancé. Try saying that three times fast.

It was a lovely time with lovely people whom I don't hang out with all that often, but would like to get to know better, and probably will this coming year.

But I had a couple of beers there. And some shrimp. And a couple of crackers. Which does not make for great alcohol absorbing potential. And I realized at some point, "Hmmm, I should eat something..." mostly because I started to hear myself say really stupid things around people I should be dealing with in a professional manner and thought "Wow. Don't stick your foot in too far."

This happened to me last weekend as well. I went to the opening of MB's play and at the cast gathering afterwards at the Arrrrghhhhonaut said many lame and insipid things to cute very-accomplished-while-still-very-young theater director who was also there. In retrospect, cringe-worthy things. MB and Miss Nora did wonderful work in the play, incidentally. They have gotten great notices, deservedly, and you should all go see it. But I made MB promise that if she ever saw me having a conversation with someone professional while drinking she would find a way to steer me very far away.

Pinky-swear.

So I left last night's gathering and yes, made my way over to Tunni's to see MB. Just because. I mean, I'm not going to be there for a good three weeks... And had another couple of drinks there. At some point a basket of steaming fries arrived at the table but most of the damage was already done. I talked MB's ear off and then some, babbling on to her about moisturizer and theater aesthetics and she was wonderfully tolerant of my verbal excess.

Must, stop, talking, sometimes.

Anyway, this morning was tough.

Must, eat, food, when, drinking.

Suri Did Not Make an Appearance

I know I am probably coming to this late but I am loving Neko Case. I like the New Pornographers, but they fit into my listen-to-when-I-need-to-muster-up-the-energy-to-go-out category, not in my I-could-listen-to-them-over-and-over-again-on-repeat category.

Neko Case may very well fall into the latter category.

I slept weird last night and my neck hurts.

I also had a wide range of bizarre nightmares, one of which featured Tom Cruise. I can't remember the plot line only that it was scary. I guess that's what I get for reading my cousin's US magazine before going to bed. And it's just my luck that instead of drifting off into the land o'Nod amidst fantasies about Nick Lachey I get terrors about Tom Cruise that make me wake up frightened and gasping for air.

Ballot Box

Got a minute?

Go vote for Rorschach Theater in the WUSA poll. It's a two step process, so don't be overwhelmed by the level of commitment. As someone with issues about things like that, I almost turned back. But stick it out, you'll be glad you did.

Why? Because even though they've never hired me (ah-ha, ha, ahem) I Love Them With All of My Heart (really, I do). And think that they are a wonderful, resourceful, authentic and ambitious company run by wonderful, resourceful, authentic and ambitious people.

I like Woolly too, but Rorschach need the gen-X vote (and support) more than they do.

P.S. That was a joke. About Rorschach not hiring me. I mean I know it is just a matter of finding the right play by a yet-unproduced-in-DC German writer that is set in an apartment building - I mean, I've been reading the blog too. And trust me, I am working my way through stacks of them. Just you wait...

Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, We drew funny pictures of you...

You know what I love most of all? I love Holocaust Revisionists. I love that Iran has decided that the Holocaust just didn't happen. I think it's so cool that the six million Jews (and homosexuals, and some clergy members, and the blind and deaf and otherly-abled) weren't actually eradicated but actually moved to Hollywood, California so that they could create an industry for Mel Gibson to make a lot of money in. I mean, obviously, Hollywood is run by Jews and queers, that's so where they all went. So, fucking, obvious. I love that the retribution that a country like Iran has for what they see as everyone making fun of Islam is to run their own cartoon contest. I mean, ha, ha, we can do that too! We can be ironic and snarky in our own way, and celebrate extreme anti-Semitism in the process. Because we are Iran! Because we have a lot of money! We can make the oppressed and poverty stricken Arabs that live in places like Gaza and the West Bank, and especially now in Lebanon (just waiting for your close-up shrapnel imbedded Shiite child) our ideal poster children and yet instead of sending $20,000 to try to rebuild a Lebanese apartment building we will offer it as the monetary prize for whomever can draw the most offensive anti-Semitic cartoon. We can blather and postulate and spout off against the existence of Israel and the plight our oppressed brethren but not do a single fucking thing to actually help them! And fuck - we may be Arabs but that doesn't mean we are not funny! I mean the Jews don't have the whole market on humor cornered! We can do it too, we can incorporate the star of David and George Bush and people with funny side curls into our pen and ink drawings and people will laugh at us like they laugh at Larry David and Jerry Seinfeld and Mel Brooks. And so what if the Jews already beat us to the punch? We have virgins waiting for us in heaven and they so don't.

This modern love breaks me, This modern love wastes me

Don't laugh at me, just trust me.

It's been a good month so far.

They are both worth the read.

Obligatory Road Trips

We drove up to NY yesterday to do another round of auditions and a site visit to the theater.

The auditions were frustrating - nobodies fault, just frustrating - so I'm not going to talk about them.

The site visit was helpful. I hadn't realized - I've seen a couple of productions at the theater. And I like the space. It carries good associations for me, mostly because it is on the same block that my friend Jordan lived in the late 90s. After her, the aforementioned Reb moved into the apartment, so it stayed within my circle.

It was the smallest studio ever known to man. No joke. There was no stove - just a hotplate. And a tiny refrigerator. Reb had two cats when she lived there. I mean - it was ridiculously small. And I used to stay with one or the other of them more than I ever should have. But it was totally the stuff that New York housing legends are made of.

Has anybody ever read the The Tenants? It's a great book. Speaking of NY housing legends.

There was also the sushi place that B and I frequented between 1997-1999, which was across the street from a sushi place where I once had lunch next to Audra McDonald.

We drove back to DC that evening. Yeah, the whole back and forth in one day is just not that much fun. I slept the whole way up (sorry Shawn) but we had some rather entertaining conversations on the way home, including whether any of us could fathom being romantically involved with a transsexual.

The exciting discovery on the way home however had nothing to do with romantic engagements or transsexuals. It was all about the NJ Turnpike rest stop and the Burger King that now carries veggie burgers! I mean, they're not GREAT veggie burgers, they're essentially microwaved Morningstar farms frozen patties with a little lettuce, tomatoes (and pickles, if you ask) but come on - are Burger King burgers GREAT burgers?

Rock on BK.

The strange thing is, I haven't heard or read anything about this. But apparently I wasn't the only one.

And while the idea of "packing a cold veggie meal" is theoretically possible, I'm never going to do it. So the possibility of having an option on the road other than iceberg lettuce with a few carrot shreds or some sort of non-descript frozen dairy desert is welcome news to me.

Packing Light

I’ve been thinking a lot about 1997.

The summer of 1997, actually. That was the year I did the obligatory American college student backpacks around Europe.

I’ve been thinking about it because I saw my friend Reb when I was in New York. I didn’t expect to – but she’d made plans to meet up with B for brunch since she was on the East coast for a few weeks and I tagged along. She normally lives in LA, or thereabouts. I was on my way to callbacks but got to spend a good twenty minutes catching up with her. Catching up on at least five years in twenty minutes. A lot of ground remained uncovered.

Neither of us could remember the last time we’d seen each other. She moved to LA around five years ago, around the same time I moved to DC.

Reb is, arguably, one of the most outgoing and social people on the planet. She has an uncanny ability to make anyone feel welcome and comfortable in any situation, anywhere.

We spent our first two years at North Carolina together. She left after that second year, I stuck around. The summer after second year was the backpacking trip when Reb and I tackled Europe together, partners in... well, lots of things.

We were a very good match, actually. I handled the museums and scheduling, she handled the social calendar and spontaneity. Because I felt comfortable highlighting the shit out of a guide book and she felt comfortable hooking us up for two days staying with friends in Berlin during “Love Parade” we complimented each other well.

So when the realization hits that there is no way we are ever going to cover the past five years in our twenty minutes of brunch, we resort to memories.

Me: “Remember when we ended up making out - ”

Reb: “With those two brothers on the beach in Cinque Terre?”

Me: “Yes! Why did I end up with the meathead brother? I never go for meatheads”

Reb: “He was sweet. He just was thicker. He had a thicker... neck. What about that guy Jeremy - ”

Me: “In Amsterdam. And then Paris. And somewhere else too. Why did we keep meeting up with them?”

Reb: “Because you thought he was smart just because he’d gone to Harvard.”

Me: “He was kind of a dork. I ran into him later in NY at this club in midtown during that period of time when swing dancing was really popular. He asked me to dance. He’s a terrible dancer. What about that guy you were hooking up with in Prague?”

Reb: “The South African. Yeah, he was kind of a dork too…”

Me: “Or your friend in Berlin? Literal man?”

Reb: “He came and visited me in California. Apparently he’s had a crush on me all these years. Suddenly I was overwhelmed with literal German man confessing his feelings to me. Nice guy, but…”

Me: “Oh god remember the space cakes and the train ride to Paris?”

The conversation always ends with the space cakes and the train ride to Paris. But that’s a story for another time.

I miss her. And I have been extremely lax in staying in touch. She got married last year, very publicly (how many people do you know whose wedding comes up on imdb.com?) and is heading towards starting a family.

The Europe memories always end with us wistfully deciding, “We really do have to do that again sometime… someday…”

Maybe we will. With less making out and no space cakes. Or maybe we won’t. But it is always nice to keep our options open…

Do you have to keep the lights down low? Oh I bet you wish you had a blindfold.

I'm kind of a mess right now, appearance-wise. I mean, I could not possibly be doing less to try to look presentable these days. I try to make myself feel better by telling myself that I don't have to look good to be a director, I only have to think good and talk good, but I'm not so sure I am doing either of those lately. As that last sentence demonstrates.

So, three strikes.

I lost the rights to one of the plays I was going to be directing next year, so on top of everything else I have been sorting through slews of plays I've read, or have been meaning to read, or that someone else has read and thinks I should read. But we are nearing a decision as far as that goes and I am really excited about the prospects.

That's about it here.

I have auditions this weekend for the Timberlake Wertenbaker play I'm directing in the spring.

Try to say that three times fast.

Timberlake Wertenbaker, Timbertake Werten-werten, Timberwerten...

Oh. Never mind.

P.S. The picture above is what comes up in stock photography when I google search for "ugly girl". But come on. You know that girl is not ugly at all, and despite their efforts to try to make her look bad she is totally still a babe.

Relax

I am loving Iron and Wine these days. It is music that has a brilliant and necessary calming effect on me. Like, I listen to it, and I can feel my heartbeat slowing. In a good way.

Elliot Smith has the same effect on me, but mixed with meloncholy.

Who else?

Cat Power, but mixed with angst.

Belle & Sebastien, but mixed with quirky.

Emiliana Torrini, but mixed with sadness.

Martin Sexton, but mixed with soul.

Travel Sticky

I'm back from NY after an extended weekend. We were pretty successful as far as casting goes, still a few uncertains but we're on our way, at least.

I didn't do much hanging out. Had dinner and drinks with a new-ish friend, which was really lovely and laid back until things took a turn to the semi-dramatic towards the end. My reaction to that was overblown, I just can't process any "talks" right now, and had so been enjoying a chill evening after weeks and weeks of show stress that the conversation turned and all I wanted to do was the "la-la-la-la-la" thing with my hands over my ears.

It's too bad, really. Because the bar we were in had these fabulous Irish musicians who'd been jamming all night on a fiddle and a banjo type thing, and it really was a great, spontaneous, laid back NY evening.

Seriously, just relax. Everybody.

B then had to deal with my mini-breakdown when I found him afterwards, uptown.

It's not you, it's them, he assured me.

Which is why I love B. Because he always says exactly what I need to hear.

The American Apparel skirt was, as expected, a constant fixture throughout the weekend. And the birthday drinks with the ex-ex-ex and his friends was actually the most drama-free evening of the entire weekend.

Sometimes life surprises you like that.

Boys Don't Make Passes...

I just got new glasses. In "seafoam/navy".

So they match my... t-shirt.

I love them, I love them, I love them.

They are better able to fulfill my prescription in glasses than in contacts.

So not only do I look smarter, I can see better.

All good things.

More Non-Sequitors

I bought this skirt yesterday. In the past sixteen hours it has made its way to the top in the rankings of "most comfortable item of clothing, ever". Somewhere around the Rhode Island Avenue stop on the red line this morning it assumed the lead.

At that point I started thinking about investing $230 and buying the same skirt in seven different colors, then wearing a different one every day of the week for the next year. Like those days-of-the-week underwear we could buy as small ones.

Tempting, but maybe too obvious.

Best of all, no sweat shops were harmed in the process of making my skirt.

I love it, I do.

I bought the skirt because I needed to look relatively presentable for several events happening in NY this weekend. One is the hour I will spend at an ex-boyfriend's birthday party tonight before I meet up with my parents back in Manhattan. I won't really get into that (I don't think he reads this, but...) but the funny (funny, not so much as in ha-ha) part is that if I meet any friends of his tonight (which presumably I will) it will be the first time. I never met any of his friends while we were dating. In six months. Once I did, by accident. That should have been a red flag, right? Far be it from me to recognize red flags.

Actually, now I hope that he doesn't read this.

The other event is the auditions. The infamous auditions with lots of actors with cleavage hair.

My favorite headshot and resume email came in yesterday with the heading "Looking for an Actress/Mime"?

Ummm... no?

I have a bruise on my wrist from when I ran into a wall yesterday (yes) but it looks like where a thumb would be if I couldn't help loving that man of mine.

Went to DC 9 last night despite complete exhaustion and sudden downpours to see these folks with my friend who knows more about music than I ever will. I was, in the end, glad I did because they played a really fun set. I also thought, I have never seen Washington Social Club live and I should.

Sufjan is touring again but apparently we have to go to New York to see him. He has three nights at Town Hall, but not a single date in DC (yet?). Is that because he can't write an album about us?

One more reason to pitch for statehood.

Overflow

I posted an ad online for our NYMF LUNCH auditions and I am now getting no less than two emails a minute.

It makes me dread opening my inbox.

It forces me to be a training snob.

Don't send a headshot with facial hair when you want to audition for a show about eighth graders.

Don't accidentally send me your waitress resume because I don't have time to email you back and tell me you made a mistake.

Make your resume and headshot easy to open. Use a recognizable program. Don't zip it if you can help it.

Don't list your film and television credits first. Unless they are spectacular (and they never are) I will automatically delete your resume. I direct theater, not TV.

Do tell me a cute eighth grade memory. It proves you read the ad. But keep it short.

Don't send me a cleavage shot. I'm not interested and the show is about fourteen-year-olds.

Don't have a headshot with face piercing. Sorry, but, ewww.

Ladies, lay off on the eyeliner. I can't tell what you really look like.

Inhale. Exhale.

So, for about a week, I get to be a normal person with a semi-normal if rather mundane life.

What does "normal life" entail?

I go to the gym.
Again, I gained two pounds during this tech. Sad that this happened when our tech for fringe was only about four hours. But, in my defense, our venue was fifty paces from a Five Guys. When I'm stressed, I tell myself I will feel better if I give myself the things I enjoy. Since a trip to Italy is out of the question, cajun fries seemed the next best thing.

I watch bad TV.
I do this while I'm at the gym. Tyra - how have I survived without you? Today, Tyra's mom was on to dispense motherly advice to viewers who had emailed her. She actually seems pretty together. And Tyra seems more together with her. There was a sweet nineteen-year-old boy on who had never been on a date, more, never been kissed. They tried to boost his confidence. I thought it was pretty obvious he was probably gay.

I read magazines.
I have now received at least one issue of all four of my allegedly $2 subscriptions (and you better believe I am watching for that sudden $80 charge on my mastercard). Yesterday I got my first SPIN magazine. Just opening it up blew my hipness quotient up at least three notches (on a scale of what to what, I don't know). I now know what Sarah Silverman listens to (Fiona Apple, Patty Griffin, old Liz Phair... ummm, hello!? She has MY IPOD, I swear! Does this mean I'm as cool as Sarah Silverman?) and that Sufjan Stevens just released an album of outtakes and extras that according to Spin is almost as good as ILLINOIS. Makes me wonder if he should be wandering from his proposed fifty states albums (Sufjan, that's going to take a while. You're young, but you're not THAT young. Maybe you should stick to regions?) It also finds me a little disappointed that DC is totally not one of the fifty states. But I dare say Sufjan, DC would give you more fodder than, say, South Dakota, right?

I read the newspaper.
I do that even when I'm not being a normal person. But today note that the headline for Peter Mark's fringe retrospective (which he probably didn't write himself, right? Someone else writes the headlines don't they?) incorporated my buffet metaphor from last year. Which I hated that I used when I spoke to the writer on the phone, because I kind of try to keep my predilection for buffets (mom and dad, I learned it from watching you!) under wraps.

I watch Netflix.
I finally saw Wedding Crashers. Vince Vaughn reminds me of my brother. I thought the movie was cute but it never actually decided if it wanted to be an over-the-top comedy or a funny romance. In any case, I will watch Christopher Walken do anything, so he made it worth my two hours.

I eat french fries at Tunnicliff's with MB.
If nothing else, I am predictable.

Normalcy ends in about five days. I am enjoying it while I can. I do think I need to figure out how to incorporate less fried food into my definition of normalcy.