I Love Pickles. All Kinds.

"Reading Time With Pickle"

by Regina Spektor

Walking home from work
Stop at the supermarket, condiment aisle
A jar of pickles catches the eye
Make eye contact with a solitary pickle
Bought the jar took it home

Made it up the stairs
Made it through the doorway, waded through the floor
Tried to head in the general direction of the bathroom door
The truest room in the whole damn house

Singin' love is the answer to a question
That I have forgotten
But I know I've been asked
And the answer has got to be love love love

Now Feeding time with TV
Then sleeping time, not sleepy
So reading time with pickle
But were the bed side lamp had been
Is now a milignant soft soft green

Has it always been this way?
Is it possible all this magic went unnoticed?
Maybe things will start to change
And life will turn a better page
No more rain

Singin' love is the answer
To a question i know I've been asked
And the answer has got to be love love love

Tomorrow back to work again
Run to the supermarket, running hopeful through the aisles
Haven't been this happy in a long time
But not a single jar was smiling afterall

But pickle jars are just pickle jars
And pickles are just pickles
Ingredients ... water, salt, cucumber, garlic and pickling spices

But love is the answer to a question
That I've forgotten
But I know I've been asked
And the answer has got to be love

I would like a pickle friend.

"I read to fly, to skim - I do not read to swim"

Somehow I got into my head this idea of going back up to New York this weekend.

The festival is having its closing night party and I really want to see The Pain and the Itch at Playwrights Horizons. So I started thinking if I went up Saturday afternoon and then saw a matinee on Sunday and then headed home I could...

But I can't. I live here. I need to stay here for a bit.

It's okay. I just need to readjust to everything.

We had our first (inner drum roll please) BOOK CLUB MEETING last night. This is a very exciting thing for me. It is such a fabulous normal people thing to do. I gathered with three and a half (my cousin joined us late) smart and lovely women and we discussed our first pick BLINDNESS. We drank wine and ate cheese and cookies and microwavable spinach-artichoke dip.

Really, the evening was divine.

We discussed the book for most of the time which I was very impressed with.

Our next pick is KAFKA ON THE SHORE.

Half the fun is the anticipation of what the next book is. We decided that my suggestions were the most potentially depressing of the bunch. It's a hard habit to break.

I am now immersed in NEVER LET ME GO which is beautiful and from what people tell me will eventually break my heart.

Which is, of course, exactly what I need right now.

City Mouse's Fall Preview

I don't have a show this fall. I'm working on a handful of readings and other mini-projects but otherwise will be trying to recover fiscally from the past couple of months, hopefully taking better care of myself physically and mentally, and - if all goes well - catching up on seeing theater.

This is kind of a fun idea. Several members of the very active theater blogging community in New York each posted their top three picks for what they are looking forward to in the Fall theater season.

It made me think about what I was looking forward to in DC.

And so, in no particular order, my three picks are:

THE BLUEST EYE at Theater Alliance
I admit - I haven't read the book. And I think I will try to do so before I see this (next book club selection, anyone?). In fact, I am embarrassed to admit that I have not read any Toni Morrison. That seems kind of wrong for a member of my generation.

So I don't know the story at all to make that the draw. But it has sounded like an exciting project from the start. An adaptation that people I admire and trust really believe in, a stellar cast, a space that I love seeing shows in, and a director who clearly knows what he is doing.

TEMPODYSSEY at Studio Secondstage
Dan's writing is smart and gutsy and exciting - even the stage directions give you words to savor. Again, smart director and smart actors, so it all adds up to great potential.

And I am impressed with Studio for doing this play. It marks a willingness for DC theaters to embrace new work in a way that has been typically aligned only with Woolly Mammoth. I hope audiences get on board. With this one, I think they will.

NINE PARTS OF DESIRE at Arena
I don't know anyone associated with this production. But based on the buzz I've heard about other productions of the play, it sounds like a really human approach to political theater, which is probably the most effective way of going about it in this city.

Runner's Up:

SHE LOVES ME at Arena and MY FAIR LADY at Signature. These two shows, if done well, are two of the best constructed classic book musicals of the past century.

So says I.

Really though, they are both delightful shows that achieve exactly what they aim to achieve with simplicity, charm, frothy sensibilities, and at times - soaring musical lines. And darn it if I can't help but hum Where's My Other Shoe every time a sandal vanishes into the depths of my closet.

So - what do you all want to see?

Why Bad Things Happen to Good Ipods

My ipod is making the little sad face.

Again. Out of nowhere.

The little effin sad face.

My brother has had his ipod for something like three years without a glitch. I'll be on my third now, in a year and a half. What is it about me that ruins good things, quickly?

Don't answer that.

This is not an indictment of apple. This is all my fault. It always is. Applecare plans exist for people like me.

Aarrrrraahhhggghhhhh. How many days before I can get to the mac store?

In the grand scheme of things, when taken into account with a global perspective of the world and the misery and the pain and hunger and strife and devastation that exists every minute of every day all around us, I have no right to be so annoyed that my ipod is out of commission.

I am fully aware of that.

But silence scares me a little.

One More Review

This is it, I promise. Bummer they spelled Shawn's name wrong.

I have a post that I wrote on my laptop on what may be my last New York-Poughkeepsie train ride for a while (sorry mom. maybe not.) but I'll post that later tonight.

Maybe She Was Missing Project Runway

DC's critics are dropping like flies. So weird. I thought PMW was quite good and fair, if somewhat overly generous. I can't imagine what she was thinking.

What would happen if an actor just disappeared after intermission?

"Sorry. Don't feel like finishing. Choose you own ending folks."

I watched a run through of a show in town last night that I think will be a very engaging and vital piece of theater. It was a team of actors, designers and director that mixed and matched several of the smaller theater companies in town, which gave me this warm feeling about DC that I'd allowed to be shaded by cynicism in the last little while. I've now known some of these folks for five years. Watched them mature into strapping young men and women - clear leaders within the DC arts community. It made me smile.

Most exciting of all - I saw DCepticon and we have decided that he will be my career counselor. He doesn't know that we decided this, but we did. I'm thinking about asking him to be my fashion consultant too. Because he can make fun things with paperclips.

Now I just need a spiritual advisor.

I head up to NY for the last two performances of LUNCH bright and early tomorrow morning. Closing is sure to be followed by weeks of aimlessness and ennui. Good thing I belong to a book club now.

More Links and Non-Sequiturs

Now my feet turn the corner back home
Sun turns the evening to rose
Stars turning high up above
You turn me into somebody loved.

I've got the Weepies on my brain. It's a catchy tune. Won't leave my head.

I am wearing jeans that I bought in 1997. I'm not sure if I should be embarrassed or proud of this fact. It means, of course, that I have not done laundry in many, many weeks. I remember very vividly standing in the dressing room of an Esprit outlet store deciding to buy them. I was on a road trip of some sort, I think from Atlanta back to Winston.

Back when I used to drive.

Back when I used to buy things.

Some fun links:

Our Backstage Review. I was happy with it.

In the interest of full disclosure, there were several negative reviews posted on various online review sites about the show. I don't feel like linking to them. It's just so funny the way people take this show so personally - people bothered by the portrayals of school teachers (both my parents were career educators and Shawn is a full time public school teacher - you cannot find two people with a greater respect for the teaching profession - but, ummm, it's a joke?).

Or people who question the show's "authenticity" ("Eighth graders wouldn't really talk that way"). We weren't exactly going for kitchen sink drama here. Or realism for that matter.

One critic noted: "The tongue-in-cheek style that pervades the show fails to capture how very serious adolescence seems when you're in the middle of it."

But why on earth would we WANT to ACTUALLY relive adolescence? We had to do it once already. The fun is looking back on it with the recognition that none of it really does matter. At thirteen you have an infinite amount of time to reinvent yourself. That's the beauty of it.

Maybe you can still reinvent yourself at thirty-one. Maybe I should be listening to myself more.

This little interview with Shawn and Joe also cracked me up. I love the Bill Finn story.

Several years ago when I was an assistant-assistant-something at the O'Neill Festival while on summer break from school I cornered Bill Finn in the little pub on the grounds where everyone drinks very cheaply.

"Why in 'Love Me For What I Am' in IN TROUSERS does the wife sing that she met Marvin in 'the can'. I don't get it. Was he in the women's room or was she in the men's room?"

Mr. Finn looked equal parts baffled and trapped. I don't think he had any intention of analyzing IN TROUSERS lyrics that evening.

"Umm. They were at a party? There was only one bathroom?" He responded and fled, far far away from the little musical theater dork who was processing all of this in her head, convinced that she now possessed the Rosetta Stone necessary to making Finn's early, quirky, but beautiful work, cohesive.

I've told you all before that I am at heart a big musical theater dork.

I shared the news excitedly with B. We analyzed and reanalyzed his response all night.

We do laugh about this now.

Oh! If you haven't already, go see my friend Josh's show. It's really wonderful and funny and moving and smart.

I saw him along with the regular Wednesday night crew last night at Tunni's (minus one Miss MB). He is doing great, and I cannot be more happy or proud of him. We talked about Family Feud and intimate situations involving stuffed animals. Then Jer got there and we talked about how everyone we went to school with is having babies now.

These things do happen.

Of Course, The Soundtrack Was Really Good

It's been hard for me to write anything of substance lately.

I know, I know, I never really wrote anything of substance here but let me hold on to my delusions, okay?

I'm just so longing for a change these days, and feeling incapable of determining what exactly that change needs to be. A move? Career shift? Back to school? Ideas, anyone?

They are all possibilities. Not like, right away, but within the next year at least.

Because otherwise I don't think this kind of hollow longing will go away. Maybe even WITH a change the hollow longing will be there, but at least then I'll be doing something about it.

I saw THE LAST KISS last night. A bit of a let down. Zach Braff is, as always, the bright and adorable Jewish boy from New Jersey that I can't help but be charmed by, but the movie as a whole - meh. It really did seem like much was lost in the translation from Italian - like literally. The dialogue ranged from clunky to bad, which may mean we just don't have the right words in English to put over the Italian meaning. (Which, now that I look, is exactly what all of the reviews are saying).

Or maybe it's a humor thing. Maybe the Italians simply don't speak with the edge that I expected these characters to speak with. Italians are generally less cynical and probably less sarcastic than we are, right? But these people just seemed too smart to be saying the things they were saying. Especially Tom Wilkinson and Blythe Danner, whose best moments were consequently when they were not actually speaking. They both did have some spot on moments. But always in silence.

Which is disappointing for someone who craves dialogue.

Also, for a movie whose only theme that I could distinguish was "the world and relationships do not operate in blacks and whites so embrace the greys" (how many times have we heard that before?) the characters were drawn in pretty stark blacks and whites. The women were all needy and demanding of things that the men couldn't give. The men were all scared of commitment. The single women were the only ones who craved sex and they were the ones getting a lot of it. (Ha.)

Not much complexity there.

So, while I was thrilled to be doing a "normal people" thing like seeing a movie with my girlfriends, the movie itself did not make the night. The company however, couldn't have been better.

So the kids they dance, they shake their bones

This is going on your permanent record.

MB Tells Me I'll Hate Him by Season Three, But Right Now He's Alright By Me

Noel to Felicity:

"I love you. I have since the beginning. And I'm just sorry that it took all this...ahh...for me to say it."

As the Dust Settles

How ridiculously egomaniacal of me.

That said...

Our first New York review is linked to above, in the title. It's my first NY review, ever.

I can't tell you how proud I am of everybody, Shawn most of all.

It was a really long week. A really difficult week. Not the fault of anyone involved in the production, but a result of the circumstances - which nobody could control.

That last line means a lot to me. Because, well, it was a tough week. One of those weeks where you contemplate hanging up your proverbial hat.

More press may come. It may not be so good. But I'm gonna smile for a while at least.

It really shouldn't matter this much, I know. And it doesn't, in the long run.

But it was a really tough week. And it feels good to know that someone had a good time. Well, and was moved in some way. Because ultimately, that's what it's all about.

Oh goodness. I'm such a sap.

Ways of (Not) Seeing

BLINDNESS is very good. Riveting. And, disturbing. And kind of frightening. Like highbrow science fiction.

I was just reading a section on the metro (if you are following along, yes - I'm in DC for a single night again) and I had to close the book and put it down. Then pick it up again. Then close it again and shut my eyes and try to get rid of the image in my mind and then open them again and assure myself that I saw something other than milky whiteness.

I will warn however - if you are in any way cynical about humanity, if you question whether kindness and gentleness are imposed rather than instinctual, especially in men - men fare badly in this book - then BLINDNESS will not do anything to assuage your doubts. And I am a little cynical to begin with. So, no, it's not helping.

From Somewhere in the Garden State

Bad, bad morning.

Bad, bad fight with a greyhound employee.

Long story. Not worth telling.

But I'm on a bus now, two hours and much frustration later, and the driver is my new hero. Somewhere on the Jersey Turnpike a large truck jackknifed (what does that MEAN?) and he did some research and drove us through the back roads of central jersey to get us beyond the miles, and I mean miles, of backed-up turnpike traffic.

We love him.

I finished A TRIBE APART (see sidebar) which ended with a sudden dash of tragedy. It's a good book - a journalist from the DC area went into the schools in Reston, Virginia for several years, following eight students ranging from 6th to 9th grade at the start. I decided to read it as some sort of late in the game research for LUNCH. Not that LUNCH is a piece that really requires "research", seeing as we all experienced eighth grade at some point, but it was interesting to examine the emotional and social journeys of these young people, research or no. Somewhat shocking, at times, and when I was reading it while still with my parents I made sure to remind them how lucky they were to have such "good kids".

They then reminded me that these "good kids" were now thirty-one year-olds both living at their parents' house, and I shut up.

I'm staying in Park Slope for the next couple days. The beautiful, radiant Park Slope.

I just started BLINDNESS. It's the first book for the book club that Hpmelon has gotten rolling. Very exciting. I've never belonged to a book club before. It feels refreshingly.... normal.

And I just watched the episode where Felicity loses her virginity to random art guy who she doesn't really know. In his defense however, he is awfully cute and he sends her flowers the next day. Maybe he deserves more of a chance.

Everybody's Favorite Subject

There's been a lot of peripheral pain and sadness in my life this week. Not my own, but belonging to some very dear friends. I've been through several of those sort of conversations where you get to the end and can only conclude, "Wow, life is really tricky." Which offers no solace whatsoever.

Which is why you we all need to see a good pop-rock musical now and then. To lighten the load, as it were.

And I happen to know of just the thing...



I'm really happy with how things are going. Still a hundred and one pieces to settle into place, but the material is good, the actors are fabulous, the band will be stellar as always, and costumes and choreography continue to impress me.

As in DC, the collaborations we have happened into on this show - some by chance, some by association - have reminded me why I love dealing in a collaborative art form. I feel so lucky to have found the team we have assembled. And not just because they are talented, they are also lovely, warm, authentic people. And that doesn't always happen.

So come out and play with us.

The link in the title takes you to our NYMF page. Click on "Tickets" and you will be directed to the ticket order page.

And here are the details:
The New York Musical Theatre Festival, Fugly Productions and Bouncing Ball Theatrical Productions Presents:

Lunch: The Musical
Written by Shawn Northrip
at the 45th Street Theatre
354 West 45th Street, NYC

Wed. Sept 13th at 8 pm
Fri. Sept 15th at 8 pm
Sat. Sept 16th at 1 pm
Wed. Sept 20th at 8 pm
Sat. Sept 23rd at 1 pm
Sun. Sept 24th at 1 pm

LUNCH is a musical about love in the eighth grade. At Benjamin Franklin Middle School, lunch is everyone’s favorite subject. First crushes and first kisses; best friends growing jealous of girlfriends and the all-important battle for Queen of the eighth grade formal dance.

Burning What?

The deeper I get into the first season of Felicity (no judgments please - bear in mind I have over three hours of travel time a day while I'm here and I can only think about the script and muddle through Thomas Friedman for so long) the more I realize - everything that could ever possibly happen to someone in four years of college happened to Felicity and her friends in the first semester.

And then some.

Won't they run out of things to deal with? MB assures me that they will not.

I love the small shifts in actual locations that allow the show to avoid product placement (did Sex and the City do that? I feel like they used actual location names.) Of course - The University of New York, with all its purple NYU sign-age, and the "New York Conservatory", and Tribeca "Food".

I just watched the first of the two sort-of-stalker-episodes. It was creepy even before he got hit by a bus. I think they should have followed through with the stalker thing, because it was a kind of interesting treatment of the subject and didn't need the complication of the bus accident.

The guy that has watched too many 80s follow-your-love-anywhere-and-it-may-just-pay-off-if-you-try-hard-enough movies and thinks that because it worked for Lloyd Dobler it will work for him. It doesn't. It only works if you are John Cusack. Just as Molly Ringwald is the only one who can gussy up a prom dress and end up taking Andrew Macarthy home even though he is several social rungs above her.

Now Felicity is deciding she doesn't want to become a doctor. What does she want to be? Of course - an artist.

And there is a part of me that wants to sit her down and say, no - stay pre-med, don't start hanging out in the studio and abandoning Noel, who right now seems like a really great guy, and chatting it up with cool art-y boy, because in ten years you'll (probably) be really poor and still falling for artsy guys who probably won't want to commit to anything until they are at least forty.

But I also want to say, go to the studio, mix your watercolors, do your charcoal, find your fellow with a goatee, and maybe you'll be happy.

And happy but poor is better than unhappy and really well set up. Right?

On a side note. The gentleman next to me at the Union Square B&N, about fifty years old, graying ponytail, flower print shirt has paused in discussing in detail a translation of some work with the woman he is sitting with and is right now explaining "Burning Man" to her. He went two years ago. She had never heard of it (also about fifty).

Is it like Woodstock? She asks.

Well, that was a very different time. He replies.

I love that this man who is almost my parent's age is more open to the whims of my generation than I am.

Fishes on a Bike!

I read the "Questions For" column in the Sunday Times Magazine with Gloria Steinem (link above). My favorite is her last quote:

***************************************************************************************************************
You've often been described as "“the good-looking feminist," as if the others were ogres. Does that bother you?

I wasn't considered so good-looking before I became a feminist.
***************************************************************************************************************

That's so true. There are certain identifiers that you never see paired up. We don't talk about the "good looking actress" or the "hot stripper" because the assumption is, of course, that they are all attractive. But the "pretty nuclear physicist" or the "stunning accountant" are surprise qualifiers because of course, women who are marketed primarily on their mental prowress are not expected nor required to be "attractive".

I suppose the same, to some degree, goes for men.

But here's to hot feminists.

I remember when Steinem married David Bale in their Native American ceremony in 2000. Somehow I missed that he had passed away. There is something both beautiful and devastating in that scenario. A woman sets out on her own for over sixty years, finally decides to declare a life partner, and then loses him four years later.

Better late than never, I guess.

I admit. I've always had a big crush on Gloria Steinem.

Their Words Are Better Than Mine

It's been a busy weekend, I'll write about it in more detail soon, but for now I'm off in lyric land again.

I went there because I was doing what I generally avoid doing - looking back on archived posts. I'm nearing the one year anniversary of some significant events in my life and I wanted to see what I was able to put into words about the experiences that happened then, experiences that I still don't feel like I have a complete grasp on. Looking back I realized that I didn't really write about them at all. Instead I quoted the songs that I couldn't stop listening to at the time.

What now?

Neko Case
THAT TEENAGE FEELING
And nothing comforts me the same
As my brave friend who says,
"I don't care if forever never comes
'Cause I'm holding out for that teenage feeling
I'm holding out for that teenage feeling"

Great song. And working on LUNCH - living in this world of first and pure and all-consuming crushes - makes one pause and think, why did we ever start settling for less than that?

Also

The Weepies
SIMPLE LIFE
Move on, move on
Time is accelerating.
Drive on all night
Traffic lights and one-ways.
Move on, move on
Parking violations waiting
Turn off the car, breathe the air
Let's stay here.

...

I want only this, I want to live
I want to live a simple life

I don't even drive. But the sentiment is there. The fear of the awaiting parking violation, metaphorical or otherwise. Shouldn't it all be much easier than this?